Rise of the Dark Lord (Discontinued for the forseeable future)
by I LIKE FEAR 1-2
Summary: In the Shadows of the North, he waited. The Dark Lord was prepared, all he needed was a vessel. His army was ready, his wrath terrible. The world would once again, fear his power. Now the Dark Lord has his sights on someone. The one man who could hold the fate of Westoros in his hand, is about to receive aid from the most unlikely of places.
1. Chapter 1

_**K so here I sit working on Broken Angel, Fire and Shadow, and Mafia Queen's Game, and for some reason, rampant plot bunnies are filling my head. Just like the latter two, this will be another little side project, I am dedicated to finishing Broken Angel before year is out, this is simply putting another idea out there, to get it out of my head, as well as to gauge if it's something I'd want to write about in the future.**_

 _ **This is a Game of Thrones, LOTR Shadow of War Crossover Ie, Shadow of War is, in and of itself an AU from canon LOTR, and I'll be borrowing elements specifically from Shadow of War. There will also be minor elements taken from other fantasy literature, some Harry Potter, some Dark Souls, Elder Scrolls, Demonatta series, Dragon Age, Diablo, and various others.**_

 _ **Cliche's: Powerful Jon, Jon/Daenerys/Sansa, Dark Jon, The One Ring Jon, Dark Dragon Animagus. Gore, Incest, Lemons, Limes, Death, and a Jon who is much more ruthless then in the show.**_

 _ **Full Summary: Stories from distant lands, speak of a great battle, a battle that was fought between light and dark. Darkness consumed the Earth and swept over the land, only a last Alliance of the good and righteous peoples of the Earth was enough to stop it, but the Darkness was not destroyed. When the ring was cut from Sauron's hand, it passed to Isildur. When the Ring betrayed Isildur, it passed to the creature Gollum. When circumstance brought them together, the Ring passed to Bilbo Baggins. And that is where it would have stayed, except for an unlikely runnin. On his trip home from the Dwarven conflict, Bilbo and Gandalf are ambushed by a contingent of orcs, led by a strange woman, they seize the ring before Bilbo can escape and they quickly disappear into the unknown.**_

 _ **The One Ring has a mind of it's own, and it's will is greater then any could possibly expect. The One Ring finds it's way back to it's master, his plan for revenge, finally ready to commence. Sauron seals his essence fully into the Ring, becoming one with it, and all of his power again, the Ring is then sent far from Middle Earth, far from the prying eyes of the Elves, and Men. Far from any who could possibly stop what was about to happen. Carried in the hands of a withered old woman, guided by a troop of Wraiths, surrounded by an army of orcs, the Ring is taken far across the sea, to distant lands.**_

 _ **It is the year 302 AC, beyond the Wall and wardrums beat upon the frozen peaks of the Frostfangs, where not even the dead wander. The Massacre of Hardhome had just finished and Jon Snow leads what remains back to Castle Black. Within his troop is a withered old crone. A crooked woman, with a toothless grin, and pale eyes. She watches the Lord Commander, as whispers fill her ears, the Dark Lord's time has come again.**_

 _ **Rise of the Dark Lord**_

 _ **Chapter 1: Rebirth**_

Jon Snow, stood in silence as the wildlings marched past him into the tunnel leading into Castle Black. Many offered him there nods of thanks as they moved beyond the wall. Jon couldn't return their happiness. The things he'd seen at Hardhome, what he'd experienced on this trek, it had shaken him to his very core. His eyes went over the crowd for probably the hundredth time, as he scanned the faces, his eyes settled on a hunched figure that slowly moved with the crowd. This figure stood out because if was draped in a large red blanket. The blood red color, stood out from the grays and browns that surrounded it. He gave the figure a curious glance, as it passed, and was able to make out the face of a very old woman.

She must have seen at least as many years as Maester Aemon, and moved in much the same way. None of the other Wildlings seemed to notice or care to assist the ancient woman and Jon couldn't help the swell of pity he felt for her.

It was cold on the wall, always cold, so cold in fact that on a good day, one's bones only mildly ached from the chill. Today was worse, Winter was fast approaching and Jon could only imagine what the cold must feel like at that age.

With a sigh, he moved from his spot and approached the woman. Within moments he was by her side.

"Do you need some help?" Jon asked as he offered her his arm. With obvious difficulty, the woman raised her gaze to meet his. Jon was surprised when empty, milky globes stared back at him, much like Maester Aemon's eyes. It was obvious to Jon that if she wasn't blind, she was very close to it.

"Thank you young man." The old woman replied as she took hold of his arm and moved with him and the crowd, further into the tunnel.

"This is a kind thing you are doing for us, Lord Commander." The old woman stated with a light chuckle, earning a look from Jon.

"You know who I am?" Jon inquired, obviously surprised due to believing that she was blind.

"Yes, I know you very well. I recognize your voice." The woman responded, earning a nod from Jon. He allowed his confusion to fade as he guessed that she must have heard him at Hardhome.

The two were quiet as they moved with the crowd through the tunnel and into Castle Black. Jon made sure to move with the elder woman, helping her keep her feet.

When they arrived with the others, she placed her hand on the arm he was using to steady her and offered him a toothless grin. "Thank you again, Lord Commander."

"No thanks necessary. I'm just doing what's right." Jon replied, offering the woman a small smile.

"Still, I am glad that you stopped to help me. You have a good heart. And doing the right thing, should be rewarded from time to time." The old woman stated as she reached into her clothes, grasping for something.

"There's no need, it was simply a kind gesture, nothing more." Jon tried to say, only for the woman to let out a laugh as she withdrew something from her pocket.

"Please Lord Commander, you've done so much for us, allow me to do one small thing for you. Take this, it's a good luck charm. Been in my possession for nearly fifty years. I am no longer in need of it, I hope it brings you as much fortune as it has brought me." The old woman stated as she placed something in his hand and closed it around the item. Jon wanted to again refuse, but the woman didn't seem like she'd be willing to take no for an answer.

With a light sigh he offered her a nod and a thanks. Despite her age, she was quick to turn and start to shuffle away from him, slowly disappearing into the crowd of Wildlings that was massing by the gates.

Jon watched her vanish into the group before glancing down at his hand. His fist was still closed around whatever she had placed in him hand. He slowly opened it to find a golden ring sitting in his palm.

Immediately Jon's eyes shot back up towards where the woman had been but she was no longer in sight. He let out another sigh, knowing he definitely shouldn't keep something as precious as this. The golden band was quite simple, nothing about it was majorly noteworthy. No stones were embedded in it, no inscription written anywhere on it. Just a plain, simple gold ring.

Jon let out another sigh. He'd never been one for jewelry, but as an act of kindness he'd at least keep the trinket on him, as a way of not insulting the kind old woman. He'd stay on the lookout though, and try to return it if he ever saw her again.

Just as he thought that a sound caught his ear. It sounded almost like whispering.

Jon found himself slowly glancing around the castle. The whispering seemed to be coming from everywhere, and yet it was in a language he didn't understand.

Finally his eyes drifted down to the Ring in his hand. He stared at it for several long moments until he felt someone step up to him. The whispering immediately stopped and Jon's hand snapped shut, hiding the Ring from sight.

"You have a good hear, Jon Snow." Came the words from Ser Alliser Thorne.

Jon didn't bother turning his gaze to the man. He knew there would be a follow-up to that statement.

"It'll get us all killed." Ser Alliser added and marched off. Jon stood in silence for several long moments before walking off.

Several hours later he found himself sitting in his office, his eyes drifting over the golden Ring he'd been given. The whispers had returned, and Jon now knew they were somehow coming from the Ring. Despite how uneasy he felt, for some reason, Jon couldn't bring himself to toss it away. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he stared at it. The longer he stared the more a vision started to fill Jon's gaze. In this vision Jon stood over the body of the Night King. The creature was broken, defeated, and Jon stood victorious. On his finger was the Ring itself.

Jon blinked a few times as he heard a chuckle fill the quiet room.

His eyes shot over to it's source. In the dark corner of his office sat a hunched figure, draped in red.

"You." Jon stated, as he rose to his feet, his hands drifting towards Longclaw.

"Yes, indeed. Great things we can expect from you Jon Snow. Great things indeed." The weathered old voice replied.

"Who are you? What is this thing?" Jon demanded, his eyes darting between the woman and the golden ring that now sat in the center of his desk.

"I am no one, and will soon be nothing more then food for the Earth. That thing, is not a thing, it is a gift. One to aide you in destroying your enemies. The Night King, the Boltons, the Lannisters, The Freys. All those who have done you wrong. That is your tool to gain justice." The Old woman replied earning confusion from Jon.

"How is a ring supposed to help me defeat the Night King?" Jon asked as he stated down at the ring, eyeing it curiously.

"Even the Night King, knows to be weary of the dark." The woman replied, as Jon returned his gaze to her.

"You will see, soon enough my lord. You were chosen for a special purpose, to bring and order to these chaotic lands. That ring, will be your greatest ally. Your ultimate tool. Put it on, and you will understand my meaning." She stated with a laugh.

Jon once again stared down at the ring, his ears filling with whispers. Despite not knowing what they were saying, he felt almost compelled to reach out and take the ring. It felt nearly weightless in his fingers as he brought it up to his gaze, he held it out in front of his face and started to lose himself while staring at it.

Blinking a few times he tore his gaze from the Ring, and glanced back to where the old woman was, only to find her missing from her spot.

Jon blinked a few more times his eyes widening in surprise. It took him a few moments but he finally realized just what she was. She was a witch. She had to be. He had just let some sort of witch into the North. Jon let out another sigh as he sat back down in his chair, and his eyes returned to the Ring.

An internal debate began to whether or not he should do what the woman said. After what he'd seen at Hardhome, Jon was willing to do just about anything to stop what he knew was coming. He knew he couldn't defeat the Night King without help, if somehow allying with a witch from beyond the wall would aide him in defeating the White Walkers, then Jon was willing to take that risk.

With only a moment of trepidation, Jon held the ring out. He then slowly brought it down to his Left hand and slid the ring onto his finger.

Jon's eyes shot wide as the whole world became white. Wind blew from an unknown place and a powerful chill filled the air. This chill was different from the cold outside, this cold was like the cold of death.

Jon's eyes shot around then back to his hand where he wore the ring. His eyes widened further as they beheld burning symbols carved into the ring itself. He couldn't read it, yet something told him that there was unimaginable power within this ring. His breath quickened and he turned his gaze about. The walls started to shimmer and ghastly figures began to approach.

Jon shot to his feet as out of the walls before him, nine beings marched up to him. Each strode with powerful purpose, the kind of stride he had often seen in his late father Ned Stark. Despite obviously being dead, all nine beings held a certain elegance to them.

Out of the nine, only two were woman, and yet all of them looked like some form of royalty or another.

Jon didn't know what to make of them, his first instinct was to treat them like whites, which is what they looked like, but there was something about them that told him that wasn't true. The whispering was glowing louder now and the wall behind the nine beings was slowly starting to glow with an orangish hue.

Suddenly all nine beings dropped to a knee and bowed low. When they did that, the wall behind them, erupted into flame. Jon felt his heart-rate quicken, his hands were immediately wrapped around Longclaw. He drew the sword and held it at the ready. Within the flames he saw something, a being standing there staring back at him.

This being was striding towards him with power and purpose. As it got closer it quickly began to tower over Jon until it soon became apparent that whatever this thing was, it was larger then even the Mountain that Rides.

Jon was just starting to make out the blackened platemail of the beings armor when another eruption of Flame, temporarily blinded Jon, forcing him to shield his eyes. When he glanced back again, the flames were gone, and so was the mountainous being. In it's place stood a man. This man was draped in white robes and wore a kind, charming smile. His eyes glowed a dim orange, like fire was waiting within them, and his hair was a white as the snow. The man's ears were also pointed and he looked quite aristocratic.

"Hello Jon." His voice came out like a gentle, soothing melody.

"Who are you?" Jon asked, his eyes focused on the man, but he was sure to keep an eye on the nine kneeling figures as well.

"You may call me Annatar." The man responded.

"Where did you come from? How did you get in here?" Jon found himself asked, his sword still raised.

"I came from a faraway land, and as for your second question, I am not actually here. I am there." The man replied as he pointed towards the ring on Jon's fingers.

"What?" Jon stated as his eyes shot down to the glowing ring.

"My spirit lays within that Ring. It was gifted to you because you have the strength to wield it." Annatar responded.

"Why? Why me?" Jon asked, as he slowly lowered his sword.

"Because… you believe, as I do, the justice and order must be brought to the world. That the petty differences between races and peoples is unimportant. You believe in truth and peace. I wish to help to attain these things. I wish to see peace brought to these lands." Annatar responded.

"Why? You said you came from somewhere far away. Why do you care about Westoros, or the North?" Jon inquired.

"Because you do. Because by helping you, I hope you convince you to help me." Annatar responded as he took a step closer to Jon.

"Help you with what?" Jon inquired, never taking his eyes off the man in white.

"With bringing peace to my home. What do you say Jon Snow. We work together, you and I, to defeat the Night King and save Westoros, and then we can work together to save my home as well." Annatar stated with a kind smile, that Jon couldn't help but feel was genuine. The man's words were soft yet purposeful. He seemed like a good person at heart, which was something that Jon could at least respect.

"The witch in red, she said that I could stop the White Walkers with this ring. You say so as well. Say I believe that, say I believe that any of this is real, I can't do it alone." Jon stated as his eyes slowly drifted down to the ring.

"You aren't alone Jon Snow. Not anymore. I will aide you in this endeavor." Annatar stated as he slowly cleared the distance between the two, stepping right up next to Jon and offering his hand.

Jon stared at it for several moments, wondering what to do. Finally he decided that it couldn't hurt to accept. The White Walkers had magic on their side. According to the old stories, magic was used to beat them last time. If this Ring would give Jon magical powers, then they may just have a chance of repeating what their ancestors did thousands of years ago. With a sigh, Jon locked eyes with the strange man, he searched them for any signs of deceit or malicious intent. What he saw was surprising. Despite the glowing orange hue to them, this Annatar's eyes were quint and genuine, filled with passion and what could only be described as wisdom.

After several seconds, Jon reached out and grasped Annatar's arm. The two locked eyes and offered each other nods.

Before Jon could ask, what would happen next, everything faded from view and returned to normal. Annatar and his nine companions were now gone, and everything looked normal again.

Jon looked back and forth, wondering what had just happened, when his eyes returned to the ring on his finger. It still glowed dimly.

"Wha-" Jon began only for a voice, that sounded like it was speaking in his head to cut him off.

" _Someone is coming."_ Annatar whispered, earning surprise from Jon.

"Where are you?" Jon asked as he glanced around.

" _With you."_ Came the simple reply. Jon turned his gaze back to the ring for several long seconds before he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Jon called out. A few moments later, a member of the Night's Watch entered.

"Lord Commander, a man just arrived. He claims to have news of your uncle." The man stated.

"What? Uncle Benjen?" Jon responded as he took a step forward.

"Yes, he's waiting outside." The man replied.

" _He's lying, Jon."_ Jon heard Annatar whisper. This stopped Jon in his tracks. A look of confusion flooded his features, then it morphed into concern. Was this one of the Ring's powers? Could Annatar sense if people were lying? Jon didn't know, but he decided that caution was the better part of valor.

Grabbing his sword, he followed after the man whom seemed to hesitate just a bit when he saw that Jon had grabbed Longclaw.

Seeing the man hesitate, filled Jon with even more concern. He followed the man outside into the courtyard where a number of fellow watchmen were gathered around something. Jon was quick to march through the crowd, his heart-rate quickening. When he finally made it to the other side, his eyes came to rest on a small piece of wood, with the words 'Traitor' written on it.

At that moment, Jon realized that Annatar had been right. Jon slowly turned around, only to find Ser Alliser directly behind him.

The two men locked eyes, and in them, Jon could only see smug satisfaction.

"For the Watch." Ser Alliser stated as he jabbed a knife forward towards Jon's gut.

Jon nearly cringed as he waited for the pain. He saw Alliser's eyes go wide, and the pain never came. Glancing down, Jon spotted a strange glow around his body, it looked as it someone, who wasn't fully there, was standing exactly where he was. He spotted the knife in Ser Alliser's hand, and he spotted a pair of arms holding the knife at bay. He recognized the white sleeves of the robes that Annatar had been wearing.

" _They want to kill you, Jon."_ Annatar's voice rung in his ears. It was in that moment that Jon began to realize the power of the item now in his possession. With the Ring, he and this Annatar could fight together, almost as one.

Locking eyes with Ser Alliser, Jon's own filled with hate and anger.

In one motion, Jon drew Longclaw from it's scabbard, and sliced Ser Alliser from hip to shoulder.

The man went down with a scream of pain, as Jon stepped over his bleeding form, his eyes locked on the crowd of traitors that were slowly backing away from him.

He recognized many of these men. Men he'd worked with for years. That made their betrayal sting even worse.

"You were going to kill me? For doing the right thing?" Jon demanded as he slowly approached the group.

No one answered for several seconds. They were all staring at him with terror in their eyes, having just witnessed what looked like a ghost leap off of Jon's body to stop Alliser's attack.

Finally, after several moments, one man regained his composure and let out a growl. He shot forward, knife in hand, but he didn't make it far.

With a deft hand, Jon batted away the strike and swung his blade low, taking off both of his attackers legs with incredible ease.

The strength of his strike was incredible. It was like he was stronger now. Faster too. Jon's eyes slowly began to glow with orange flame as he stepped over the screaming form of his legless attacker and drove Longclaw into his heart.

He then turned his attention back to the crowd who were now immensely frightened.

"You would have me murdered? My own brothers?" Jon demanded again. His eyes now glowing with incredible brightness as they filled further will anger, and sadness.

"You're no brother of ours! You're a monster! A demon!" One man screamed at him, earning several chants of agreement.

It tore at Jon's heart to hear that. That they thought so little of him. After all this time, he had tried to do what was best for everyone, and as reward for his good deed, his own brothers intended to murder him.

With a battle-cry four men charged at Jon at once. He slowly started to backpedal and he prepared to fend off their assault.

" _Attack."_ Annatar commanded him.

" _Wha- But..." "Attack!"_ Jon knew that to attack when being charged by four opponents at once was foolish, but he also knew that he wasn't alone. Annatar had stopped Alliser's blade without Jon needing to do anything. If Annatar could fully operate without Jon's input, then that meant that Jon had an avenue of attack and defense. His new companion watching his back, while he went on the offensive.

Taking a risk, Jon pushed forward, parrying the first strike from one of his attackers, but that left him open to the second strike from another. Before the knife could even get closer, Annatar stepped off of Jon's body, grabbing the man by his arm and twisted it painfully, leading to a loud crack, and a scream of pain. His knife fell from his hand, which Annatar quickly seized and drove into the man's skull silencing his screams. He then disappeared from view.

Cold determination filled Jon's eyes at that. He wasn't alone. He now had an ally to fight with him in any battle. With a downward slash, Jon dropped one of the three remaining attackers. Now one stood before him, and one stood behind him. Both rushed forward at once, screams of rage, erupting from their mouths. Jon brought his sword up to parry the frontal strike, while once again, Annatar shot forward from Jon's body, armed with his own sword that looked like an ethereal copy of Longclaw, and drove said sword into the second attacker's chest.

With one man remaining, Jon pushed forward, blocking a follow-up jab from the man's knife. He then spotted an opening and with a lightning fast swing of his sword, he took off the man's head.

Jon stared down at the headless corpse for several long moments. He didn't feel winded. He didn't feel strained. In fact, Jon felt stronger then he ever had. Power flowed through his veins, and he knew it. He felt unstoppable, like he could face the Night King, right now, and win.

His eyes turned back to the crowd who was gaping at him with disbelief. By now, others had started to exit out into the courtyard with confused looks on their faces.

Among them, Edd, Ser Davos Seaworth, and the Red Woman, Melisandre.

"What the fuck is going on out here!?" Edd called out, his hand going to his sword.

Jon shot a look towards him, and his heart filled with relief. It was obvious that not all members of the Night's Watch had decided to partake in this brutal act of betrayal.

"These men, tried to murder me. For doing what was right." Jon called out, and many of the onlookers turned towards the small crowd of remaining traitors.

"He's a monster! Look at his eyes! He's been possessed by something!" Olly shouted, stepped out of the crowd and pointing an accusatory finger at Jon.

That was like a knife to the heart for Jon. To see that even Olly was working with the conspirators. With a heavy sigh, Jon started to march towards the remaining collection of traitors.

"For attempting to murder me. For your conspiracy. For your betrayal. I hereby sentence you all to death. If any of you have any last words… now's the time." Jon stated. Hearing that, a few of his allies like Edd and Ser Davos, moved down to stand by his side.

Out of the handful of traitors remaining, a few shook their heads in defiance, while two fell to their knees and started begging. The remainder could only stand there, stunned as they realized that this would be their last night in this world. Even Olly stood with tears streaming down his face, as Jon marched towards him.

It broke his heart to see the young man like that, but his betrayal demanded retribution. Jon could never trust them again, never put his life in their hands. They were no better then the White Walkers, now. He had to put them down. All of them.

Just as he got close, Olly let out a cry and tried to make a stab at Jon. His actions sealed his fate, Jon swatted the strike away batting the knife out of Olly's hand in the process. He then drove his sword into the boy's chest, ending his life instantly.

Jon felt a few tears build in his eyes, at the look of pain, rage, and betrayal in Olly's eyes. It killed him on the inside to have to do this, but he knew it must be done.

Jon pulled his sword free and marched on the few that remained. Out of the crowd of onlookers that had just arrived, a few men rushed forward with swords drawn. Jon's eyes snapped towards them, and he realized that they were even more conspirators.

It was only once they were close to Jon did Edd and Ser Davor realize that the small squad wasn't in fact rushing to their Lord-Commander's side.

Both moved to help Jon when something amazing occurred before their very eyes. Surrounded by another four men, Jon and Annatar fought as one, when one attacked, the other defended, and vice versa. Their cooperation, and speed allowed them to down the four within ten seconds.

As their bodies fell to the ground, Jon focused on what remained of the original troop of traitors.

Seeing that there was nothing that could stop him, a few turned and tried to run. They didn't make it far, as figures, cloaked in black, stepped forward from the shadows. These faceless entities, were draped from head to toe in long black cloaks. Beneath their robes, one could hear the clanking of metal grieves, and on their hands were dark metal gauntlets. Their faces weren't visible beneath the pitch black cloaks they wore.

Without any hesitation, these beings shot forward, seizing the men by the throats and disarming them in the process.

Three of them, dragged three runner back to where Jon was quickly cutting down what remained of the conspirators. The three men were thrown on their knees in front of Jon, whom spared them a glance, then stared at the three hooded figures that now stood before him. Out of the shadows, six more figures marched up to him, gathering with the other three.

Jon stared at them for several long moments before turning to the three men in front of him. All three were begging for their lives. Despite their disheveled states, Jon found no sympathy in his heart for them. They were traitors. That was it.

One by one, Jon moved down the line, driving Longclaw into their chests. When he was finished, he faced the nine gathered figures. Something told him that these were the same nine figures he had seen earlier that night with Annatar.

None of them said anything, and they all stood almost unmoving, as if waiting for a command. Jon stood in silence for several long moments, as he heard someone walk up to him.

"Are you alright?" Came Edd's voice.

"No. I'm not. They tried to kill me Edd… my own brothers." Jon replied as he turned to face his friend. Edd looked uneasy, the orangish glow of Jon's eyes was still present, but it was slowly fading.

"They're dead now. It's over." Edd stated, earning a slow nod from Jon.

"Yes… it's over." Jon stated as he glanced around at the collection of onlookers. Fear was the main emotion in most everyone's eyes. The only one who wasn't afraid was Melisandre, whom looked awe struck.

Jon stood in silence for several long moments before marching back to where he had dropped his scabbard. He then made his way back up to his office, the courtyard filled with nothing but silence.

A few hours later, Jon found himself sitting at his desk, his eyes on the ring, still on his fingers. Around the perimeter of his office stood the nine beings. Wraiths they were called. Ringwraiths to be specific. Dead kings, and ancient lords, that served Annatar in life and continued to do so in death. They were the Nazgul.

For hours, Jon sat in near silence, asking occasional questions to Annatar. Questions like who he was, where he came from, why he was here. But he also asked about other things, like what powers the ring possessed and what the two of them could do together.

Annatar seemed to take great pride in describing himself and his work. Apparently he had made the ring himself and poured his own essence into it. He came from a land far from Westoros or Essos. On this land he had once been a great lord, with many kings of lords that served him, especially the nine. A great war broke out between Annatar and the rest of the peoples of this land, they fought against him because he tried to bring a new age to the land. Annatar explained to Jon, that he was a craftsman at heart, and that through hard work and great determination he had discovered a new age of industry and advancement. The nations of his old home, rejected his work, preferring their old ways, and when they saw how his own kingdom prospered, and how many kinds and lords flocked to his side, they turned on him, uniting and destroying his great kingdom of Mordor.

Annatar explained that he had come to this land in search of allies to help him return home and reclaim his lost Kingdom. So far, none of this sounded too off for Jon to believe. In fact if he was honest with himself, getting Annatar's help in defeating the White Walkers, was well worth the price of future aide in returning him to his home.

At least in Jon's opinion.

When it came to the powers of the Ring itself, Annatar was more then a little vague on what it could do. He explained that having it in his possession would increase certain aspects of Jon's character, like making him noticeable stronger, and faster, with greater reflexes. The ring also offered an aura of protection around it's wearer, that would turn the odds in their favor. Annatar explained that it was like a good luck charm, that things tended to work out better for the wearer so long as the ring was in their possession.

He did hint at other abilities that the ring possessed but he intentionally refused to get into them, explaining that Jon would need to practice in order to harness those abilities without hurting himself. He did reveal one of the Ring's major abilities though, and that was the ability to bring the Wearer into the Wraith realm. Essentially, at any point, Jon could focus and enter into the white-ish realm of wraiths, where neither the living or dead, could venture. There he would be invisible to the living, and he could also see powerful fonts of magic, while in the Wraith realm.

So that's what Jon spent a lot of his time doing, pulling himself into and out of the Wraith Realm, learning to control it. These things were all he could do to keep his mind occupied, and away from the painful betrayal he had just felt.

A knock at the door, interrupted his concentration, and pulled him back into the physical realm.

"Come in." Jon called out. A few seconds later the door opened, and in walked Melisandre, and Ser Davos.

"Lord Commander." Ser Davos greeted him with a nod.

"Ser Davos, what can I do for you?" Jon inquired. Davos looked nervous as his eyes darted between Jon and Melisandre.

"I have come to swear fealty to you. My service is yours." Melisandre stated as she dropped to a knee.

Jon was silent for several moments as he gave her a curious look, and slowly rose to his feet.

"I'm not sure I understand." Jon began.

"She thinks you're the prince who was promised." Ser Davos stated with an irritated sigh.

"I thought Stannis was your prophesied prince." Jon stated with a look of confusion.

"No, I was wrong. Stannis was not the Prince who was promised. He was merely the person who would guide me to him. You are that Prince, Lord Jon. You are the one who will bring the dawn. The Lord of Light, he is with you, even now." Melisandre replied with reverence.

" _Ah, a red priestess. It seems she can sense me."_ Annatar hummed with amusement.

" _Wait, you're this Lord of Light?"_ Jon thought with surprise.

" _In some ways, yes. Those who once spoke of my greatness traveled to the far corners of the Earth. Some must have even made their way here, spreading tales of my exploits and power."_ Annatar responded, with a chuckle.

" _If that's true, then that would make you thousands of years old."_ Jon responded, still eyeing the priestess with a look of confusion.

" _And who is to say I am not. I am after-all a spirit tied to a ring. Even without the Ring, I can survive without a physical vessel."_ Annatar responded to his question.

Jon was silent for several seconds as he let out a loud sigh. He was trying to come up with an argument to her statement, but nothing manifested itself. If Annatar was this Lord of Light, and he chose Jon to be his vessel, that 'would' technically make Jon the Prince who was Promised.

Jon searched for an argument but found none.

" _You should accept her pledge. She could be a powerful ally in the War for Dawn."_ Annatar suggested.

Jon was about to refute that, remembering what she had done to the King beyond the Wall, but then again, she was a fire priestess, and fire was incredibly effective against Whites.

After several more quiet seconds, Jon let out another sigh and glanced at Ser Davos. "And what are you here for, Ser Davos?"

"I'm here to try to and be a sound mind to whatever she plans on whispering in you ear. I don't know what you saw out there, beyond the wall, but I do know what I just saw. What you just did. If I'm willing to believe in that, then I have to believe that there was something beyond the Wall. If the White Walkers are out there, you're going to need as much help as you can get. I'm here to offer that help." Ser Davos stated.

"Thank you Ser Davos. I accept your help. And you Lady Melisandre… I accept your aide as well. The White Walkers must be defeated. We have to put aside past grudges and do what is needed to ensure our survival." Jon stated, earning nods from both of them.

Another hour went by, when Edd showed up, by his side, was Tormund Giantsbane. Edd had apparently gone to retrieve him, after the attack. Edd knew that at this point, barely any of the Black brothers could be trusted. Tormund had little to say about what Edd claimed to have seen, but he did offer Jon a nod and pat on the back for killing so many traitorous crows.

By morning a funeral pyre had been built, and their bodies burned. A few hours after that, and there were a few arrivals at the gate. Sansa Stark, along with her bodyguards, Brienne of Tarth, and Podrick Payne.

Jon was overjoyed to see Sansa again and held her tight when she hugged him. They sat together in Jon's office for several hours, discussing things. Jon kept purposely quiet about the things that had happened to him recently, and he kept the ring, primarily out of sight, not wanting her to question him about it.

It was deep into their conversation, when Sansa told him she wanted to go home. This led to them debating the merits of making an attempt on retaking Winterfell. After his betrayal at the hands of a large swath of Night's watchmen, Jon had very little left, tying him to the organization. He knew he had already broken his oaths, with Ygritte, so leaving the wall, and leaving the Watch behind wasn't what bothered him. He fully intended to fight against the White Walkers, and he knew he couldn't do that by just sitting on the wall and waiting for them. He needed allies. He needed the North. But there in lay the problem. He had no army, he had no allies. Tormund may help them, but he most likely didn't have the force that Jon would need for such a campaign.

In his mind, even with his newfound abilities, there was no way Jon could take Winterfell from the Bolton's without aide.

"They have our home, Jon. We have to take it back." Sansa argued.

"I know that. Believe me, I do. I just… we can't just walk up and ask the Boltons to give it back. We need men. Soldiers." Jon argued.

"How many wildlings did you save?" Sansa inquired, earning a look from Jon.

"Not enough for that kind of fight." Jon responded.

"The Northern houses will help us. We put out a call, and they'll come to our aide." Sansa argued.

"And what if they don't?" Jon asked.

"Then we'll find a way. That monster can't be allowed to hold on to Winterfell. We have to take it back." Sansa said again, earning a sigh from Jon.

" _Perhaps I can assist you."_ Annatar whispered into his ear.

" _Your advice would be most appreciated. I don't know how much good it'll do, but I'll take what I can get."_ Jon thought back.

" _Would fifty thousand, be enough to take back your home?"_ Annatar inquired, his voice utterly enticing. Jon's eyes widened at hearing that.

" _You have that many men? How?"_ Jon asked, earning a chuckle in reply.

" _I have been preparing to return home for a long time, Jon Snow. You and I, are in this together. My army, is your army. Send forth, one of the nine, and they will usher in to you from the Frostfang mountains. Orcs, Uruks, Spiders, Oleg-Hai. My army is hungry and ready for war. All they need, is to be unleashed."_ Annatar responded, earning a deep breath from Jon.

If his new companion was telling the truth, then they may just have hope of taking back the North, and have a force left over to fend off the Lannisters, the Frey, the Greyjoys, and prepare for the Long Night.

"I need to handle a few things Sansa. Give me a few days, and I'll see what I can do." Jon told her, earning a reluctant nod from Sansa.

Jon quickly made his way out of his office, purpose in his step. As he walked, the Ring began to glow.

A shadow had fallen over Westoros. The Dark Lord had returned, and his wrath was soon to be unleashed.

 _ **-To be Continued-**_

 _ **Alright there it is, hope you enjoy. Next update might be soon. Back to work on Broken Angel, about a third of the way through that chapter already. Next chapter of Mafia Queen, out sometime next week. Cheers!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Alright here's chapter two. Wasn't quite finished getting everything out so I started writing this, right away. Hope you all enjoy. Also, someone suggested making this a harem story, since it's more off the rails, adding Sansa. I kinda like the idea, as I think a dark Jon, cunning Sansa, and Daenerys might be a good match, so I've decided to add her.**_

 _ **Rise of the Dark Lord**_

 _ **Chapter 2: Arise, Son of Flame**_

Jon was silent as he and Sansa rode up the lift towards the top of the wall. They were being accompanied by Brienne of Tarth and Ser Davos.

It had been nearly two weeks since Jon had dispatched one of the Nine Wraiths beyond the wall with orders to gather Annatar's army and bring it to the wall. In that time, Jon continued to learn more about his newfound powers. He learned to harness his increased strength and speed, to utilize his greater reflexes to ensure that he was an even more competent fighter than before.

His speed and reflexes were almost otherworldly, for those who watched him. He had dueled several times with many individuals like Brienne and even Tormund, and he bested both, every single time. His strength was also such, that he could probably lift a man such as Tormund, right off the ground with one hand, and hold him aloft with little effort. Jon suspected that at this point he was even stronger than the Mountain.

Annatar informed him that with his newfound strength he could most definitely cause damage, even to something as big as a giant, if he punched it as hard as he could. He may not have been stronger than a giant, but he was definitely stronger then what a human was capable of achieving.

Two days after Sansa arrived, a message came to Castle Black from Winterfell. A message from Ramsey Bolton, looking for his lost wife. It was quite a charming little note, that threatened death to all those that refused to kneel, and any who kept Sansa from him.

Jon was highly unimpressed by the simple scare tactic, having seen and heard things far worse in his time north of the Wall.

Jon chose to ignore Ramsey and instead focused on biding his time until the army Annatar had promised, arrived.

During the waiting time, Jon learned more about his new ally. He learned a bit of the history from Middle Earth, learned a bit about the Gondorians, and the Numenorians. About the Elves, and the Dwarves. About the Orcs, and Uruks, and spiders, and all manner of beasts that was currently marching towards them. From what had been explained to him, the Orcs and Uruks sounded a lot like wildlings, just far uglier, and a bit more hardy and cunning. The Oleg-hai was apparently something called a troll, but these were specifically bred for war. They were smarter, faster, and more resilient than the average troll. Trolls were supposedly, the middle ground between a man and a giant, which was something that greatly interested Jon. He remembered how the Giants fought, if Annatar had a force of beings just like that, then things really would slip in their favor.

Also during that time, Jon had spoken at length with Tormund about the creatures from the mountains. Jon was curious to hear if there was any truth to what Annatar had claimed about his army of fifty-thousand.

Much to Jon's surprise, Tormund confirmed it. He spoke of some hideous, beastly beings that lived high up in the mountains. They refused to join Mance Rayder when he tried to unite all of the northern clans. None of the Wildlings knew how many of the creatures there were, only that there was a lot of them, and they had built some sort of great fortress in and on one of the peaks of the Northern Frostfangs. He did warn Jon that, that place was wrong. Something about it gave off a terrible feeling. None of the Wildlings really wanted to associate with the hideous creatures of the mountains, but they had needed their aid, way back when.

But alas, the creatures had always turned them away, or even killed whatever messengers they sent, depending on their mood. It turned out that they weren't in the same dire straights as the rest of the Wildlings, as it seemed even the dead, found the mountain creatures to be frightening and strange. The White Walkers didn't venture those parts, and thus, neither did their soldiers.

Naturally, Tormund had asked the reasoning behind Jon's curiosity, and Jon told him that he had sent for them. Tormund was naturally skeptical, given that even Mance had failed to persuade them, but he offered his approval of the idea, adding that if the mountain creatures brought their strange dark magic to the wall, it might scare the White Walkers away, and Tormund would count that as a victory for them, since he and his people were now on this side of the wall.

Of course, following this conversation, Jon went somewhere private and had another conversation with Annatar. Jon asked him about the mountains and why even the White Walkers were afraid to go there.

Annatar's answer was threefold. One was that there were beings there, unlike anything Jon had ever seen. Beings that could defeat White Walkers, in single combat. The second was that certain Orcs, Uruks, and even Olegs were either armed with magical weapons or wielded magic themselves. The third part of the answer was Annatar himself. The White Walkers knew to be afraid of Annatar, as he possessed incredibly powerful magic.

Now Jon was very excited to see this army for himself. After hearing that from Annatar, Jon had spent several hours discussing with the man, these magical weapons he claimed his army had. Annatar was more than willing to entertain Jon's interest, knowing exactly why Jon wanted to know more. He explained that it varied from individual to individual. Powerful war-chiefs, and captains, sometimes wielded magical weapons they had taken from foes, long ago, or they would wield cursed weapons, that were forged much more recently.

Swords of flame. Spears doused with a miasma of darkness. Maces with lightning arcing across them. Powerful warriors often wielded powerful weapons of war. Even the Nine Nazgul were armed with magical weapons, with Eight of the Nine, carrying cursed swords, that were unbreakable, like Valyrian Steel, except much heavier. The leader of the Nazgul, the Witch King, was armed with a sword, and a flail, both of which were magical instruments of great power.

Then came the kicker for Jon. He asked Annatar if he knew how to craft such magical tools, and if they would at least be effective against Wights. With a smirk, Annatar informed him that he knew many crafting methods to forge such weapons. The orcs could do it with their own twisted magic. The wraiths had their own magic, Annatar had his own magic, and he knew of a multitude of different crafting methods that could be used to forge powerful magical tools.

This was something that Jon fully intended to exploit. Even if some of these magical tools couldn't kill White Walkers, if at the very least, they could kill Wights, then that was good enough for him.

Today, Jon had been pulled from his sleep by Edd, who had told him that he needed to go to the top of the wall and see something.

As the lift made it to the top, Jon lead the way to the other end of the wall, his party following closely by his side. When they made it to an opening that showed the far north in all its glory, they were greeted to the sight of a massive gathering of soldiers on the other side.

Jon's mouth fell open, as loud war horns blared. Sansa was by his side, her mouth also hanging open. Ser Davos and Brienne weren't much better.

Tormund was already waiting for them at the top of the wall, staring down at the army of fifty-thousand with his eyes wide.

"You're gonna have to tell me how you do that, Lord Snow," Tormund muttered as his eyes scanned the thousands of orc, uruks, and various warbeasts that filled the field in front of them.

"Open the gate and let them through," Jon ordered, earning a slow, reluctant nod from Edd.

Slowly, Annatar's army marched through the wall. Just as Tormund had described, the orcs were a hideous race, with vicious twisted teeth, and skin that ranged from gray to dark purple, to red. They were violent looking creatures, but there were a lot of them.

The orcs were short and lithe creatures, while the Uruks stood tall and powerful. Each one of them standing as tall as Brienne. The Olegs were just as terrifying as Jon imagined they would be, and there was nearly a thousand of them in total. As mounted infantry, the orcs and uruks rode massive beasts called Caragors along with massive spiders as big as a direwolf. The Caragors were large, and monstrous, standing as tall as a man, there was probably two thousand of them in total. While there was nearly a thousand giant spiders, each with a lithe orc as a rider. The sight of the special mounts drew dumbstruck looks from many of the occupants within the castle.

Annatar's army even possessed mobile siege engines in the forms of tamed Graugs. These Graugs were absolutely massive and had to crawl in order to fit through the tunnel into Castle Black. Each of them was equipped with special harnesses and prefab equipment that one could then attach specialized siege equipment too.

In cages brought through with them, large winged beasts could be seen. At first, Jon thought they were dragons, but it turns out they were something called a Fellbeast. A massive winged creature that was like a distant cousin of a dragon. It couldn't breathe fire, but it was still a vicious creature, none the less. There were nine of them in total, the mounts of Nazgul.

The army was almost too good to be true, but there it was, in the flesh. Shortly after it's arrival, discussion began on what to do with it.

"You know what's out there Jon, you can't just abandon the Watch now, in its hour of need," Edd argued, once discussions turned to Jon taking his new army to Winterfell and asking Ramsey to kindly vacate the premises.

"I do, and I also know I can do more good for the watch out there, then I can sitting here on the wall, and waiting for the dead to march in. I'm leaving ten thousand here to man the wall. They'll spread out and recapture all of the forts and castles. The rest of us will march south and retake Winterfell. With the North back on our side, we'll have allies to hold back against a possible attack from the south and I can have even more men sent here to reinforce the wall." Jon explained earning a nod of understanding from Edd, as he glanced down at the map that lay before them.

"I've already broken many of my oaths to the Night's Watch. I don't intend to break the most important one. 'I am the shield that guards the realms of men'. I'll do what I have to, to prepare the North for the war to come. I hope you can believe that." Jon stated, earning another nod from Edd.

"I do. I know you won't forget us up here. Still doesn't mean I want you to go." Edd responded, earning a small smile from Jon.

"With the orcs on our side and the North back under Stark control, we may have all we need to hold our ground against the White Walkers," Jon stated earning nods from Edd, Ser Davos, Melisandre, Sansa, and even Tormund.

" _Do not forget Jon, that this is only part of my army. Another ten thousand await in the mountains and we can use them to encircle the White Walkers, once they do attack. Also, if the time comes, we can always send for the rest of my forces, back in my homeland."_ Annatar whispered in Jon's mind, almost making him grin.

" _If this works, I swear to you, I'll do whatever I have to, to help you reclaim your home."_ Jon thought back.

" _I intend to hold you too that, Jon Snow."_ Annatar stated in a smooth and quiet tone of voice.

"What about the other houses?" Sansa inquired.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I don't think we require their help any longer." Ser Davos stated, earning a nod from Tormund and Jon.

"I understand that we outnumber them now Ser Davos, but it can't hurt to gather more men to our cause and gauge whether other houses will still support us," Sansa argued, earning a slow nod from Ser Davos, who understood her reasoning.

"We'll put out a call to the other houses, maybe take a trek to speak with some of them, while our forces begin the march south towards Winterfell." Jon began, earning a grateful nod from Sansa. He then turned his attention to Tormund. "Once we deal with Ramsay and retake Winterfell, someone's going to need to man the Dreadfort. Whether your people help us in the battle or not, I intend to give it to the Free Folk. It's not a nice place. A lot of terrible things have happened there, but it's a castle, and it'll be all yours."

Tormund was silent for several seconds as his eyes drifted down towards the map of the North. He scanned it for several moments until he spotted the Dreadfort on the map. It was almost as far south as Winterfell. Further south meant further from the White Walkers, and further from the cold. It also sat on the Weeping Waters, which led to the sea. Having a Castle would mean having a place to live, and call their own. After staring at the spot on the map for several long moments, Tormund returned his gaze to Jon's.

"You plan on giving us this castle, and these lands, even if we don't fight for you?" Tormund clarified.

Jon was silent for a second before sharing a look with Sansa who offered him a nod of agreement. Despite not discussing it beforehand, Sansa actually agreed with the idea. With Ramsay dead, someone would need to man the Dreadfort and bring order to those lands. Tormund was an ally of Jon's, someone he trusted, and Tormund already had his own army. They may have been Wildlings but at this point, beggars can't be choosers. They would kill Ramsay, and retake Winterfell, then they could send another force to the Dreadfort along with the Wildlings and bring it under their control, giving the Wildlings a place to live, uplifting them, and also securing the region, and a powerful ally for the future.

"Aye. Whether you fight or not, I need someone I know can do the job to keep things in order out there. And the Wildlings need a home. The Dreadfort isn't pretty, but I doubt any of them will care once winter comes. We'll retake Winterfell, then the Dreadfort, and get your people there to man the castle. And like I said… I don't need you or any other Wildling to fight for me in this coming battle. But it might be helpful to your people in the long run if you do. If you're seen fighting with House Stark as it retakes Winterfell, it would greatly endear you to some of the Northern Lords, and prove publicly that the Wildlings and the Starks are allies and friends." Jon stated to him earning a strong nod from Tormund, which quickly morphed into a toothy grin.

"You watch when I bring them this news. First Hardhome, and now this, I don't think you'll find many fighters who wouldn't be willing to slit a throat or two in your name. Besides that, if we help kill this Ramsay prick, then we can proudly say we earned our new home. Free folk are prideful like that." Tormund stated earning a smirk and a nod from Jon.

"So… Fifty thousand in total. Ten thousand will stay here and man the wall bringing it back up to a level of garrison it hasn't seen, ever… if I'm not mistaken. The remaining forty thousand will march south towards Winterfell." Ser Davos began, pointing at the map as he did.

"Yes. Ramsay has some five-six thousand men. We outnumber him by a huge margin, I need to learn of this armies capabilities. Once I do, we'll begin work on a battle plan." Jon stated.

"Well, the battle won't be too hard if you plan it right. Ramsay is a sadist. He enjoys toying with his victims. Show him something he can latch on to, some form of weakness, and he'll grab hold, and hang onto it with all of his might. He's predictable like that. You want him out of the castle and on the open field, then you have to make him think there's fun to be had." Sansa informed her brother, earning a slow nod from Jon.

" _Sounds like this Ramsay character is quite the fiend. This shouldn't be too difficult."_ Annatar stated.

" _You have some sort of plan?"_ Jon mentally inquired as he scanned the map.

" _Yes actually. The Caragors are incredible climbers, and I think you're smart enough to know how spiders work. Attach climbing ropes to them and have both groups scale the walls of Winterfell. On their own, that's three thousand plus their mounts, equaling Ramsay's force. Have them climb the wall, secure climbing ropes, and within moments, more of our soldiers will pour in. At the same time, send a couple of Olegs to the main gate and have the break it down, and allow another force to breach the castle. You coordinate this right, and the castle will fall within hours."_ Annatar explained.

As he explained the plan, Jon allowed it to play out in his mind. He envisioned how all the pieces would fit together. If they could get their force down to Winterfell and surround the castle, then Jon could easily overwhelm it. The first thing he'd need to do was see just how good at climbing these Caragors were. The spiders were a no-brainer. If they were anything like regular spiders, they could probably climb the Wall itself with little difficulty.

"Alright then. Here's the plan." Jon stated after several quiet moments.

 **-Sometime Later-**

These last few weeks had been quite interesting. Shortly after observing his newfound army in action, Jon and they set out for Winterfell. While they marched, ravens were dispatched to all of the major houses of the North bearing the Stark sigil. Sansa had called all of the banner-men loyal to House Stark.

The reply was about what Jon was expecting. Many didn't reply at all. Some sent back replies that the Boltons now ruled the North and that Sansa would be returned to them if she was spotted on any of these lords' lands. While a few answered the call and agreed to meet at a specified place while the army marched south.

The meeting was short and brief with Jon and Sansa thanking them for meeting with them, and offering the various lords a chance to participate in the coming battle, or at the very least, observe Jon and his new army destroy Ramsay, avenge the Red Wedding, and reclaim the North. Many agreed to at least observe but a few, like the Mormonts, swore to offer men to the cause.

When the army was about three days away from Winterfell, another letter arrived from Ramsay. He was offering a chance for Parlay before the battle. A part of Jon was tempted to accept, to see if he could perhaps get a read on this Ramsay Bolton, but Sansa didn't think it wise. It was obvious Ramsay knew of the massive force marching towards Winterfell, and he knew he couldn't beat it without some sort of trickery. Sansa was very firm with Jon, assuring him it was a trap, and to just ignore it and complete the march.

Annatar offered his agreement with Sansa. This was obviously a trap. An attempt to kill Jon and recapture Sansa before the battle.

So with their assurances, Jon kept his sights focused solely on Winterfell.

The following day, twenty men were discovered trying to infiltrate Jon's forces. Sadly for them, there were so few men in the army of orcs, uruks, olegs, spiders and the like. Humans actually stood out more, and the twenty men didn't look much like wildlings. It was Ghost that picked up on them first and stalked the group for a while before he started howling which drew in several patrols of orcs.

Needless to say, the fight was quick and decisive with the twenty men reduced to fifteen, with all those surviving being captured.

The fifteen Bolton men were thrown into cells while Jon decided what to do with them. It was Melisandre who took the opportunity to offer some insight into this attempt at sabotage. Apparently, Ramsay had done something similar to Stannis Baratheon's forces when he marched on Winterfell. It was apparent that Ramsay expected the same tactic to work twice.

Two days later and Ramsay Bolton marched up onto the walls of Winterfell to gaze upon a massive army that was now gathered around it.

As far as the eye could see the dark army stretched. Terrifying war chants echoed across the landscape, filling the hearts of Bolton's men with dread.

No one knew how the Bastard of Winterfell had raised such a force, and even now, Ramsay was at a loss of how to deal with it. Winterfell was a mighty castle. Six thousand men resided within its walls. Against ten thousand men, it would be no issue to withstand the assault. Maybe even fifteen thousand would break against its stone barriers without making it through. But forty thousand. That was simply a number too great to manage with so few. Ramsay doubted there were enough objects within the entire castle to throw at the enemy let alone arrows to shoot them down.

The Bastard had a force he could throw against the walls until the corpses were high enough to climb over them. Ramsay's eyes were cold and calculating as they passed over the army in black. His eyes flitted from one giant beast to the next. The Olegs that towered over their orc comrades filled his men with terror, and the Graugs even more so. These Siege Beasts stood towering over the army, each one equipped with powerful siege equipment strapped to it's back.

"My lord." A soldier stated as he walked up behind Ramsay.

"Send out a rider. It time to play." Ramsay ordered, earning a nod from his man.

Outside, Jon sat atop a horse at the front of his massive army. High in the skies above Winterfell, the Nine Wraiths were hidden in the clouds, riding atop their Fell-Beasts.

Jon watched with quiet contemplation as the gates of Winterfell opened and a single rider emerged. This rider rode across the distance, coming to a halt several yards away from Jon.

"I bring word from Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Lord Ramsay demands that your army disband and you return his wife to him. If you do not comply then the blood of Rickon Stark will be on your hands." The messenger informed Jon.

Jon's eyes widened a bit, as his face darkened. To prove his point, the rider threw a severed wolf's head onto the ground before Jon. It was the head of Shaggydog, Rickon's Direwolf.

Jon was quiet as he stared down at it.

" _Annatar..."_ Jon whispered into his own mind.

 _"Call out to the wraiths, Jon. The nine will react to your will. You needn't say a word. Just think about it, and they will respond."_ Annatar whispered back.

Jon offered a slow nod as his eyes returned to the rider. "Send word to your lord, have him bring Rickon to the walls. Let me see that he is alive. Only then will he have my answer."

The rider offered a nod and turned to return to the castle. As soon as he was out of earshot Jon turned to Ser Davos and Tormund. "Be ready to charge. As soon as Rickon is on the walls the wraiths will descend from the skies. One of them will grab him while the rest take out their archers. Then we'll proceed as planned." Jon told the two, earning nods.

About ten minutes later and the frightened form of Rickon Stark was brought up to the walls. He was stood right next to Ramsay who had both hands placed on the boy's shoulders smirking like the devil he was.

Jon slowly started to ride forward. He was careful with his advance making sure he stayed outside of the range of the archers on the wall. He got just close enough that he could make out a small figure standing directly next to someone atop a high point on the wall.

For only a handful of seconds, Jon debated whether or not that was Rickon. Finally, he decided that he had no choice but to believe it was.

Jon slowly to draw his sword. Making sure to be deliberate about it so that his forces could see him. With great will and anger, Jon raised his sword into the air, his eyes slowly igniting into orange flame as he did.

Seconds later, a loud horn tore through the air. From Jon's armies, several columns of mounted forces began to advance.

Seeing this, the smile fell from Ramsay's face.

"It seems your brother doesn't love you," Ramsay noted with a sigh.

He was about to reach for a knife when suddenly an ear-shattering screech tore through the air. This sound was like nothing, anyone had ever heard. Hundreds of men covered their ears and dropped to the ground at once as this soul piercing noise tore out of the heavens.

Ramsay was one such person who stumbled back, clutching at his ears. This noise was like someone running a sword through his very soul it caused him to feel something he very rarely felt in life. Fear.

A loud rush of wind knocked Ramsay to the ground and a darkened shadow descended around him. He was able to focus enough just in time to hear a panicked scream. Before he was even able to return to his feet that shadow had lifted up into the air, and in its talons was the writhing form of Rickon Stark.

Slowly, Ramsay's eyes took in the form. He was stunned as he watched the retreating form of some sort of winged beast carry Rickon all the way across the field, past the army and to where the Stark encampment lay not too far off.

Right at the same time a half-dozen more screeches filled the air as more winged beasts dove out of the clouds.

Ramsay slowly spun in a circle watching as these winged creatures swooped down and across the battlements snatching up a dozen men in their mighty talons. More terrifying screeches filled the air as the winged beasts grabbed handfuls of Ramsay's men and carried them high into the air, only to drop them upon their fellows cowering below.

The archers that were able to maintain their sense during this chaos were unable to fire a straight shot at the massive winged beasts. Their arrows never flew true, as the unholy screeching noise tore into their hearts preventing them from summoning the courage to fight back.

Within another thirty seconds, snarls could be heard coming over the walls. To the horror of the Bolton army, massive spiders and terrifying Caragors hopped over the wall, carrying with them climbing ropes that they anchored wherever they could.

Chaos quickly broke out as the mounted units quickly tore through the lightly armored archers that had once thought themselves safe upon the wall.

Ramsay was one of the few who could manage any sort of resistance. He cut down his first orc as it stormed over the wall using a climbing rope left by a massive spider. The smell of its blackened blood reminded Ramsay of the torture pits of the Dread keep.

He fought viciously and wildly but his resolve only lasted a few moments. The orcs were quickly joined by their commander and Jon Snow was a force to reckoned with.

With glowing orange eyes and otherworldly speed, he moved through a half dozen men. Dancing off of his body was the specter of some beautiful being, a man in pure white robes, armed with a sword that matched Jon's.

The bastard and his ally cut down countless men as they slowly made their way across the wall.

Eventually, they came face to face with Ramsay. The two bastards met, both knowing almost immediately who the other was.

With a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, Ramsay charged towards the glowering form of Jon Snow. He brought his sword up to strike but it was blocked by the specter that fought alongside Jon.

Before Ramsay could recover from the block, Jon drove his fist hard into the man's face. The force of the hit was much greater then even Ramsay was expecting and he went tumbling to the ground.

He quickly tried to rise back to his feet but by that time, Jon was on him. Driving his foot hard onto Ramsay's sword hand, he broke it instantly. Then in a swift move, Jon knelt down, grabbed Bolton by the hair, and drove his fist hard into his face, knocking him unconscious with the second blow.

"Make sure this one stays alive," Jon ordered to some nearby orcs. They offered snarls of acknowledgment as they moved forward and grabbed the downed form of Ramsay, dragging him off somewhere to keep him safe.

Jon was quick to rejoin the battle after that.

Within another five minutes, the main gate of Winterfell was broken down by the Giant Wun-Wun, who led a troop of armored Olegs and Uruk-hai in through the breach.

Fifteen minutes after that, and the Boltons had surrendered. Nearly half of the Bolton army was dead in less than an hour. Bodies were strewn everywhere, on the walls, in the yards. Everywhere.

The first thing that was done after the battle was over, was for all the Bolton banners to be struck, and replaced by the Stark banners.

After that, the remainder of the Bolton army was thrown into pens, to be held until Jon decided what to do with them. Afterward, he set his forces to task, recapturing the castle and clearing out the bodies.

Shortly after this operation began, he was joined by Sansa, Melisandre, and Rickon.

Rickon was luckily unhurt by his time with Ramsay, though he did sport several cuts from being carried in the talons of a Fell-Beast. He also had a sprained ankle from when he was dropped to the ground by the creature, though otherwise he was in good health and was more then happy with those injuries if it meant he was with his family.

The three Starks had a touching reunion, all three enjoying a warm hug.

It was later that night when Sansa had Ramsay fed to his beloved dogs. Apparently, he had been starving them in preparation for feeding Rickon to them.

The following day, Sansa had the Maester dispatch letters to all of the northern lords informing them that the battle was over and that the Starks now held Winterfell again.

Shortly after that, Sansa, Rickon, and Jon sat down and discussed what was to be done now that they had their home back, and what they would do with Ramsay's army, and the disobedient lords that refused to help them or even threatened them.

Sansa and Rickon showed their wolf blood as both ranted at the injustice of it all. The Starks now had their own army, they didn't need banner-men, especially disloyal ones who would abandon them at the first opportunity. Only a handful of houses had bothered to support them. True that none of the houses were told that Jon had such a massive army at his back, but that's what made their reactions more genuine. Had they known of the army, Jon suspected that almost all of them would have sided with him and his siblings. But they didn't, and some of them even threatened to sell Sansa back to the Boltons.

While Sansa and Rickon raged, Jon stewed in his anger. Neither of his siblings noticed how the ring on his finger began to glow or how his eyes would slowly start to smolder with flame.

After a while, it was decided that those that had threatened them and those that had fought alongside Ramsay would be placed under watch. They would have orcs stationed in their keeps from now on and they would be watched until they proved their loyalty to House Stark. Those that refused the call would have all past deeds erased. Their friendships with the Starks would be wiped clean and they would need to reestablish any form of goodwill with them. The Starks were not fair-weather friends, and they had no room for them.

For those that fought with the Starks, like the Wildlings, like the Mormonts, like the Mazins, and the Hornwoods, they would all receive great rewards for their service.

While these discussions were going on, none of the Stark children questioned the change in one another. They had all grown immensely since they were children and had been hardened by their own trials. They were colder people. Harder people. None of them questioned the little voice in their heads that told them to be ruthless. Be harsh. Show the world that you are wolves and that wolves are not to be trifled with.

Annatar was mostly quiet during the conversation. He didn't say much of anything. At least… he didn't say it in a voice that Jon would recognize. His whispers were a quiet thing and though Jon held the ring, all those around it could be influenced by it, and Annatar was doing just that.

With a cold, and calculating grin, he watched as the Starks formulated their revenge for the injustices served to them. It was Rickon who first brought up what they would do about Walder Frey. The man who betrayed Robb and helped to murder the North's army.

Sansa and Jon had very simple ideas on that. March south, and feed him to some giant spiders.

With an army as big as the one he now possessed, Jon no longer feared being overwhelmed by the White Walkers. With the wall as a barrier and fifty-thousand men at his back, they could hold back the dead, even defeat them.

Jon had bore witness to the power of the dark army, and he wasn't disappointed. The orcs and uruks fought with ferocity, they did exactly what Annatar said they would.

Eventually, talk turned to how they would handle running Winterfell. It was Jon who pointed out that while Rickon was the male heir and thus the one to stand as Lord of Winterfell, he was also too young to handle the responsibilities now. So he suggested that Sansa rule the castle until Rickon came of age.

While neither Stark had a problem with that, it was Rickon who asked about Jon and what he would do. Considering it was Jon who had saved him, and it was Jon that had won the battle and reclaimed their home.

Jon's reply was that he was a bastard and a bastard couldn't rule Winterfell. Especially when there were two perfectly good Stark children already present.

Of course, this nearly led to both Stark children debating him on his own merits but they decided against it knowing Jon and his proclivity to mope about things.

The following day, Sansa asked for Jon and Rickon to meet her in the Godswood. When they arrived they found her waiting with a message.

"Father left something here." She told them.

"What do you mean?" Rickon asked as he shared a curious look with Jon.

"He left a message with Maester Luwin to give to Robb when the time was right. When Theon took over the castle he hid the message in his private journals. Maester Wolken found it and had the message copied before presenting it to Roose Bolton. All it said was that father left something important buried for Robb in the place he spent so much time in the Godswood." Sansa explained to the two.

"So Maester Wolken told you about this note." Jon guessed, earning a nod from Sansa.

"Roose Bolton burned the original. He either didn't care or he had no way of knowing where in the Godswood Robb liked to spend time." Sansa informed the two.

"You and Robb spent time here. Where did he specifically like to go?" Rickon inquired to Jon.

Jon made a face but slowly started to look around. After several moments he started to walk until he made it to a particular tree. It was just far enough into the Godswood that no one outside could easily see a person but close enough to the edge to notice someone coming. It was a place Robb liked because it allowed him the shirk of his chores under the pretense of praying.

Jon inspected the area looking for anything that may insinuate that something was buried in the area. His eyes eventually fell on a large flat piece of the stone that was about as big as Jon's head. The rock looked out of place, and after a moment Jon realized that it wasn't a natural rock but a chunk of the wall or one of the towers that must have chipped off at some time or another.

Sharing a look with his siblings who had also noticed his attention on the stone, they quickly set out to retrieve shovels, and then Jon, with a bit of help from Rickon moved the rock and dug up the soft dirt underneath.

It was only a few moments when Jon's shovel clanked against something metal. The two quickly unearthed a small metal chest.

"Father truly did leave something behind," Rickon noted as Jon carried it off to the side and set it on a flat surface. The Stark children then gathered around as Jon opened it up.

The first thing they saw was a piece of darkened cloth that sat atop whatever was within the chest. Atop the cloth was a folded parchment.

The three shared a look before Jon took the paper and passed it to Sansa. As the standing Lady of Winterfell, whatever father had left for Robb, should naturally pass to her now that he was gone.

Sansa took the paper and unfolded it. She slowly read it's contents as she sat down on a downed tree.

Jon and Rickon watched as her eyes slowly widened and her jaw fell open. Her eyes started to dart between the letter and Jon as she continued through it.

 _"Oh… now, this is interesting."_ Annatar commented. Jon could just barely make out his specter standing over Sansa's shoulder reading the note along with her. Jon chose not to say anything as that would draw attention to him and he was quickly realizing that no one else could see or hear Annatar except for a select few like the Wraiths or Melisandre.

After several seconds Sansa took a deep breath and turned her gaze towards Jon.

"It's a letter from father. In it, he's asking Robb to deliver a message to you, Jon. In case something bad happened at King's Landing and he never got the chance. He wanted Robb to know the truth and tell you about your mother." Sansa stated. Hearing that Jon quickly shot to his feet.

Sansa was quick to rise as well, taking a deep breath as she did.

"Jon… no matter what this says… You'll always be my brother." Sansa stated as she offered him the letter. Jon looked as if he had almost been struck by her words. It was obvious that the contents of the letter were something amazing.

Rickon himself looked confused as he heard what Sansa had said. His eyes turned down to the chest and the cloth still covering its contents. He removed the cloth and unfurled it. It turned out to be a block. The cloth itself was blood red, and as Rickon unfurled it his eyes came to rest on a blackened sigil upon the back of it. It was the Sigil of House Targaryen. The three-headed dragon.

Rickon stared at the sigil for several long moments before turning his eyes to the chest. Inside were a few items. One was a beautiful harp that looked to have been elegantly crafted some time ago. And the other looked like a pitch black stone. A stone oddly shaped like an egg. A stone with scales on it. Beneath that, was a handful of journals.

Jon sat where Sansa had and began to read the contents of the letter. Sansa was by his side the whole time. Her hand on his shoulder.

' _Dear Robb._

 _If you are reading this, then something has happened to me on my venture south. When I agreed to become Robert's hand, I had an ulterior motive than just to serve the realm. Someone murdered Jon Arryn. I intend to find out who. If I do not make it back, then I have left instructions for this letter to find it's way to your hands._

 _Let me start by apologizing. For many years I have held a great secret. One that only one other person was privy too. Howland Reed is the only other person in all the world who knows what I am about to tell you._

 _Robert's rebellion was built on a lie. Your aunt Lyanna was not kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen. Nor was she raped. She loved him. She loved him with all of her heart and he loved her. I believe the two were wed, though I do not know by whom. Your Aunt bore Rhaegar a son. And it was this act that cost her, her life. Before she died, she made me promise, swear to her that I would protect the child she had brought into this world. For my beloved sister, I swore an oath, to do whatever it took to keep this child safe. No matter the cost._

 _I took this child with me, back to the North, along with the body of your Aunt and a handful of trinkets Rhaegar left for his son in the event that he did not survive the Rebellion. I hid these trinkets, and I named the child my bastard. By the blessing of the gods, he was born with Stark traits, though when he was a babe his eyes held violet rings, matching his father's violet eyes. Luckily they faded over time._

 _By now you know who I am speaking of. Jon… my nephew. The last piece of your aunt still in this world. I have done all I can to protect him. Even now, Robert froths of murdering the remaining Targaryens. If he knew of Jon's true parentage, he would see him killed. It is for this reason that I have kept the truth. I cannot say if I ever would have told him the truth, or if I would have allowed him to live in ignorance for the rest of his days. All I do know is that if something happens to me at the capital, then the choice will be forever removed. You know your brother Robb. You know him better then I do. I know you'll make the right decision. Whatever you decide. I can only hope that Jon can find it in his heart to forgive me. All the gods know there was probably something more I could have done._

 _I'm sorry to burden you with this, my son. But this secret… despite all of the danger it can bring, cannot die with me. Jon is the heir to Iron Throne. Jaehaerys Targaryen was the name he was given by his mother and father. Within the chest are his father's cloak, given to his mother. His father's harp, and what I believe to be a Dragon's egg. I also place all of Lyanna's journals and diaries within the chest as well. Some of them contain information on her correspondence with Rhaegar._

 _I hope you will know what to do with this all. I've certainly entertained many sleepless nights pondering it. Do what you think is right, my son. And tell Jon that I love him. Despite what he may feel towards me, despite what he may believe. I have always loved him. He is your brother. He is my son. He is my blood._

 _Never forget Robb, when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._

 _With love and great admiration_

 _Eddard Stark. Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell, and Hand of the King'_

By the end of the letter, Jon was nearly in tears. He could hardly believe it, but there it was. In his father's, now uncle's, handwriting.

Jon read over the letter a second time just to make sure he had read it right. After a few seconds, he allowed his head to lift up and his eyes slowly turned towards the sky.

He stared up through the trees for several long moments, looking past them towards the clouds.

"Jon..." Sansa said in a whisper.

He didn't react to her words. Slowly she reached out, placing a delicate hand on his cheek, guiding his face until he was staring at her. Their eyes locked and for a moment, Sansa could almost feel herself falling as she gazed into Jon's eyes. There was such a torrent of emotions flowing within him. Anger, Pain, Sadness, Regret, More Anger, Betrayal, Happiness, Excitement. All vying for control, though in the end, they all simply left him looking shell-shocked.

It was seeing the un-shed tears building in his eyes that finally did it for Sansa. She was quick to pull him into a tight embrace, and much to her relief, she felt his arms slowly encircle her as she heard him let out a tired huff.

"It'll be alright Jon. Everything will be alright." She whispered into his ear earning what she could only guess was a small nod.

Despite his pain, Sansa couldn't help but feel safe, wrapped in his arms. It had been just like it was when she had arrived at Castle Black. The hug they had shared, his touch. It just made her feel safe. Something she hadn't felt in a long time.

"I think this is an egg." They both heard Rickon state. Slowly the two pulled back from each other, their arms still wrapped around one another. Both turned their heads to spot Rickon holding up the egg, staring at it curiously.

"He wasn't lying. Was he?" Jon muttered.

"No. He wasn't. You aren't a Snow. You're Jaehaerys Targaryen. Son of the Last Dragon, and the She-Wolf of Winterfell." Sansa stated with a small smile, earning one from Jon after a few moments.

"Looks like he wasn't the last Dragon after all," Jon noted earning a snort from Sansa.

"Come here Rickon. You should read this." Sansa called him over. By now he had taken note of the two and how closely they were holding one another. Jon looked more miserable than ever and his smile didn't reach anywhere close to his eyes.

As Rickon read the letter and Jon and Sansa pondered about what they were going to do, Annatar stood off to the side, watching the trio and smirking, that elegant smirk of his.

" _And all the pieces fall into place._ " Annatar thought to himself, his eyes drifting between Jon and the Black Dragon egg that Rickon had placed back in the chest.

" _Oh yes… I chose perfectly."_ Annatar hummed to himself. He knew the time would come when Jon wanted to try and hatch the egg, and when it did, Annatar would be there to help him and to follow in the footsteps of his late master. A dragon, born of Annatar's creation. Now that would be a beast the world would weep to behold.

A few short days passed. Jon was naturally moody and kept himself occupied with training. Boltons men still rotted in cages, and outside of Winterfell, a massive war camp had been built for the army that now gathered around it.

Once all of the Lords had arrived and saw with their own eyes that house Stark had it's own army now, most of them turned meek and fearful.

The first order of business was for all of the houses to reaffirm their allegiance to House Stark. Now having seen the army they possessed, many were more than happy to do so.

Following that, the question became, what to do next. The consensus at first was that the war was over. The Boltons were defeated, and that meant that everyone should just go home and wait out the winter.

Jon put a stop to that line of thought immediately, with a warning of what was coming. The White Walkers. This, in turn, lead to heated whispering which was all put to silence when the young Lyanna Mormont rose to her feet and delivered a thorough tongue lashing to the various lords who chose not to fight for the Starks.

Annatar even commented during all of this that he admired the girl's strength, despite her age and stature.

Of course, this all leads to the young lady Mormont proclaiming Jon her king. Even going so far as to acknowledge his being a bastard and how it was irrelevant to her and House Mormont, as he had Ned Stark's blood running through his veins.

Jon looked like he immediately wanted to interject, the new information that had come to light and his own honor nearly causing him to correct the falsities in her statement. But Sansa was quick to put a stop to that, as she quickly put her hand on his arm, earning his attention. She then gave him a look that spoke volumes and was enough to keep him quiet for now.

Though he didn't see it, Rickon also threw a look at Jon, intending to stop him from countering that statement.

Soon afterward Lord Manderly rose to his feet proclaiming Jon as the King in the North.

Lord Glover soon followed. Offering that he was sorry for not helping and that he would regret that decision for the rest of his life.

Following with their decision to wipe the slate clean, Jon replied to him and all those present, that when it came to forgiveness.

"I cannot speak for the dead. All that I can offer is the chance for you to redeem yourselves. To turn your words into action and prove it, when the time comes." Jon told them earning a resolute nod from Lord Glover.

He then drew his sword and proclaimed Jon the King in the North.

This, in turn, led to all of the lords rising to their feet and drawing their blades.

The chants of 'King in the North!' could be heard from outside the castle. Jon simply sat there stunned for several moments. His eyes slowly drifted to Rickon who offered him a smile of encouragement, then to Sansa who gave him a softer smile, and a reassuring squeeze of his arm.

Jon then slowly rose to his feet as the various lords continued to chant. His eyes drifted across them, passing from one face to the next.

Among the crowd was some familiar face, and sitting closely with one another was Tormund, who raised his mug for him, Ser Davos who offered him a smile and nod, and Melisandre, who almost seemed more vibrant than normal.

While Jon took in the gravity of the situation he had just found himself in, Annatar watched with glee in his eyes.

This could not have gone more perfectly for him if he had planned it all out himself. He now had one of the seven kingdoms as his 'ally'. Now he could begin work on preparing the North for its true purpose. But first… the Night King had to be dealt with. The beast was a rival, a necromancer that if left alone may one day threaten the Dark Lord himself. Annatar would not allow that to happen. Shadow and Flame would dominate this world, not ice.

The Dark Lord would make sure of it.

 _ **-To Be Continued-**_

 _ **Alright, hope you all enjoyed. Like I said, I'm making this a harem fic because why not, and Jon being a dark badass in this story, he deserves one. Now that the setup it out the way this story is going to diverge a bit from established canon. We've got a time jump coming up, and we'll get to see how Jon's rule over the north changes now that he knows he's Targaryen and he has the guidance of Sauron to aide him in figuring things out.**_

 _ **Also, what will Bran think when he meets up with Jon again. What will he learn of Jon's destiny now that the Ring is involved?**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Alright time for the next chapter. Hope everyone enjoys and a few people suggested that I add Arya to make it Jon/Sansa/Arya/Daenerys so I decided, what the hell. Jon's gonna one up his ancestor anyway. Three powerful women as wives. Also just as a note, these events take place before the events of Shadow of Mordor. As we've seen in those games, Gollum is already without the ring so it has to take place after Hobbit. **_

_**Right now we are in a time just before Shadow of Mordor would begin. Yes you can expect Jon to run into Talion and Celebrimbor in later chapters.**_

 _ **Also someone asked why two of the Nazgul were female. In shadow of war, it's revealed that a Nazgul can be killed, and it's ring passes on to the one who slayed it. In the story two of the nazgul were killed by two powerful woman from a far off kingdom. Both women were sisters and they took their rings and were eventually corrupted like all the rest. I like the idea of the rings passing to stronger and stronger warriors, corrupting greater individuals as time goes on, I also like that the Witch King is the one who was never beaten, or at least never killed. It really separates out the fear factor with how differently people view the nazgul. A regular one is just terrifying, but the Witch King is like an entirely different breed of horrifying.**_

 _ **Rise of the Dark Lord**_

 _ **Chapter 3: Cold Winds**_

 **-Time Skip- Fifteen Months Later-**

Daenerys Targaryen sat staring out over the great carved map of Westeros that had been carved into a table in Dragonstone. Beside her, her small council admired her with quiet calculating gazes. By her side, Tyrion Lannister stood present. The dwarf was uncharacteristically sober, but that was to be expected. Over a year now, Daenerys had been in Westeros and they were still at war.

The war to retake her throne had been long and brutal. Initially facing setbacks, Dany set things back on course when she unleashed the Dothraki and Drogon upon the Lannister army. That's when things became long and drawn out. Small skirmishes broke out all across the south, but major battles were kept to a minimum. No army was willing to gather in large numbers when faced with a massive horde of Dothraki, or one of three dragons.

Still though, Cercei Lannister refused to relent and she did not surrender.

A few months after the war began, the Golden Company appeared in Westeros. This pulled Dany's advance to a halt. She received many warnings from her advisers and even her close friend, Ser Jorah Mormont, that the Golden Company was not to be trifled with. If there was any army in the world that may pose a threat to her dragons, it would be them.

There was also rumor brought to her attention by Varys that Cercei had rebuilt her cache of Wildfire and could use it to destroy King's Landing if they tried to invade. On top of that she had probably already peppered the capital with those siege engines that had been used to bring Drogon down from the sky.

Luckily Dany adhered to the advice of her fellows, as a short while later it was learned that the Golden Company had brought with them their own powerful siege equipment. Similar in nature to the weapons deployed by the Lannisters to spear her dragons out of the sky.

Days turned to months, months to a year, and even now the fight for the Iron Throne still raged.

Cercei and the Lannister's held strong, but there had been recent events that had shaken up the Capital.

Rumor had it, according to Varys that some months prior, Jaime Lannister had disappeared from the capital along with about a thousand Lannister men. No one knew where he had gone, but it was assumed by many that he had left in a jealous rage after Cercei brought Euron Greyjoy into her personal council. She had even promised to marry the Ironborn leader when the war was over.

No one knew if this was true or not, but it was the only explanation for Jaime's sudden disappearance.

With Jaime gone, leadership of the Lannister army fell to either Euron or the Golden Company. Either choice spoke of the condition of Cercei's army. If it wasn't for the Golden Company's reputation and the threat of wildfire, Dany would have marched on the capital long ago.

During her time in Westeros, Daenerys had become accustomed to setbacks in her ambitions. The destruction of the Rebel Greyjoy fleet by Euron, and the death of the Sand Snakes was one major setback. So was the kidnapping of Yara Greyjoy. As luck would have it, Theon Greyjoy, managed to somehow regrow his manhood and launch a rescue operation, infiltrating the Iron Islands while Euron was in the Capital. Yara was rescued and returned to Dany's side, more pissed off now then she had been before.

The loss of the Tyrells was also a major setback, One of Jaime's major victories at the start of the war. Though Daenerys repaid him by unleashing the Dothraki and setting his army on fire, capturing or killing a massive swath of Lannister forces and evening out the odds once again.

Since then, it had been one skirmish after another with Daenerys spending most of her time convincing this Lord or that to bend the knee and support her cause. Many joined her, especially as time went on and Cercei's grip on power became more loose.

With luck, Daenerys was able to reclaim the support of Dorne now that the Sand Snakes were gone, though she still had to hear about it from the various lords of Dorne, and as of right now, there was no one in the far south, running things. Dorne had officially been split into a collective of provinces, under the command of various lords. That meant that while there was a general consensus to support Dany, most of them were also vying for her favor in seizing Dorne for their own.

Now she sat with her Small Council, preparing her next move.

Her Small council consisted of several individuals that had aided her in getting to where she was now. There was Tyrion, her hand. There was Grey Worm, the leader of the Unsullied. Missandei, Daenerys' personal handmaiden and close friend. As well as Varys, the Spider. Theon Greyjoy, and Yara Greyjoy. And the leader of Daenerys Queensguard, Ser Jorah Mormont, now cured of Greyscale.

"We've had lords and ladies from all over the various kingdoms show up to deliver their oaths of service. Many more sent letters offering their support and promising to arrive when the weather permits. All in all, I would say we're making progress." Tyrion stated as he gazed out over the map.

"Progress? We've been sitting here glaring across the way at the blonde bitch sitting on the throne, while we sit here on Dragonstone. It's been a year now and we're still here." Yara countered, earning a look from Daenerys that was directed at her hand. She was very much in agreement with that statement.

"Over half of the lords and ladies of Westeros have already sworn their allegiance to you. Thousands have gathered in preparation for the day our queen takes the throne. What we need right now is something to tip the balance in our favor. Something to reignite the fire and force Cercei off of the throne." Tyrion stated.

"We need more men." Ser Jorah noted.

"There are no more men. Every lord that is willing to join me, has. The others will need to be won over with victory. My initial victory over the Lannisters won many allies to our cause, but that was over a year ago now. We need another victory. We need something. Something to convince those that are still on the fence that we can win this war, and take the throne. Cercei's armies wont march out of their cities to meet us, and I wont start burning down cities or having my Dothraki pillage the lands. We need something more." Daenerys stated, her voice carrying a weariness to it, that spoke of many sleepless nights, plotting and planning.

"We need more men. There are only two places left to exploit here in Westeros. One is the Vale of Arryn, and the other is the North." Varys informed them all.

"Littlefinger controls the Eyrie. He has Robin Arryn wrapped up in his control. He may help us, but only if he sees gain in it for himself, and he may just sell us out to Cercei if her offer is better." Tyrion noted.

Daenerys let out a small sigh at that. She had heard more then enough about Peter Baelish from Tyrion. She knew that man was a viper. One that was never to be trusted, for any reason.

"As for the North, well as far as I know, the North is still held by the Boltons, and they aren't exactly an ally worth having." Tyrion continued, but Varys was quick to interrupt.

"Actually my lord, I've heard some interesting rumors coming out of the North. They say that the Boltons were all put to the Sword over a year ago, and that the Starks have reclaimed Winterfell." Varys informed them all, earning a surprised look from Tyrion.

"How long have you known this?" Tyrion asked.

"Only a short while I'm afraid. News from the North is few and far between, and my little birds are busy gathering information on the enemy we're currently at war with. The North has also experienced a very radical change in doctrine, in this past year. To my knowledge, no one from the south may travel north. Not by sea, not by land. The Starks have sealed it off." Varys responded earning curious looks from all those around him.

"Seems the Starks are looking to bury their heads in the snow. Who is in charge of the North now? From my knowledge, the only Starks left alive would be Sansa, Bran, and Rickon. And the latter two are iffy at best." Tyrion noted while sending a glance at Theon who was also staring at Varys. There was a bit of hope in his eyes, hope that he would hear that the two boys had survived and were back home.

"I'm uncertain, but I doubt it is Sansa Stark. The stories I've heard claim that the North has a new King." Varys responded earning a thoughtful look from Tyrion and a focused look from Dany.

"How long have you known about this Northern 'King', Lord Varys?" Daenerys asked, her eyes boring into him.

"Apologies, your grace. As I said, I am still rebuilding my spy network, and any resources I had prior were focused on the Lannisters and aiding you in taking the throne. Besides that, if the North is sealed then travel there would be difficult. I'm not surprised I haven't heard much from my little birds. And I didn't want to come to you with rumors and speculation during all the chaos without something that was verifiable." Varys explained earning a slow nod from Dany.

"If the North is as sealed as you claim, then how did you hear this?" Missandei inquired.

"Merchants from Essos. The North has cut off contact with the south, but they are trading with the Essosi and that means interaction. Interaction means rumors, and rumors spread quite quickly. Even across the Narrow Sea." Varys informed them.

"We need to get into contact with Winterfell. The northerners have never cared much about the south and unfortunately, they have little love for your family, your grace. Or mine. Chances are these rumors are little more then that. Rumors. But… on the off chance that they're true, we may be able to convince them to aide us." Tyrion rationalized, knowing that it was best to assuage Daenerys' ambitions before she decided to take action.

"Very well then. Send a raven to Winterfell. Inform the new lord of Winterfell that his queen demands that he ride south and bend the knee. Be sure to add that I acknowledge the severity of the weather, and thus ask that an immediate reply be give by raven, and that the new Lord Stark make the trip as soon as weather permits." Daenerys commanded, earning a nod from Tyrion.

"Well… now we play the waiting game." Tyrion noted.

"Again." Yara stated with a huff. Her feelings being mirrored in many of the others, sat at the table.

 **-Three days later, beyond the wall-**

Edd let out a curse as he stumbled back from the flailing form of an enraged Wight. The creature was hissing and growling, stalking towards him.

Before it could close the distance, a towering Uruk shot past him driving a war hammer into the wight's chest, splitting it in half and sending a shower of bones, flying through the air.

"Keep on your feet pink skin. Don't wanna die in the snow do ya?" The Uruk laughed at Edd, as he recovered from the blow that had nearly sent him to the ground.

"Fuck off." Edd bit out, earning another laugh from the Uruk as he charged into the fray.

Edd took a moment to get his bearings and glance around the battlefield. Around a hundred wights had been discovered patrolling near the wall, so Edd and a company of about two hundred moved to engage them.

It had been over a year and a half since the Massacre at Hardhome, and much to Edd's chagrin, the White Walkers still hadn't launched their major attack. Seems that they were fully aware of the massive garrison that now manned the wall, and were unwilling to risk failure by throwing themselves against it. This meant that the Wights now spent their days probing for weaknesses in their defenses which meant skirmishes like this were common.

Edd didn't know what the White Walkers were waiting for, but the idea of them searching for a way to circumvent the wall, terrified him.

What had started as Ten thousand orcs on the wall was now closer to fifteen thousand. True to his word Jon continued to send troops up to the wall and on occasion would even journey up to it to participate in some of the skirmishes. It was very good for morale to have the King in the North show up to fight alongside the brothers of the Night's Watch and his own forces.

Where once, the men of the Night's Watch would jeer at him and call him a traitor, now they had given him a new title. The King on the Wall. As soon as that happened, Edd took the opportunity to send a raven to Jon and inform him that as of that moment he was the King of the Wall and still Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. This in turn warranted a trip to the wall for Jon, where he had to hear it directly from Edd who explained that the rangers on the wall decided that a good way to make it so that no one could really call Jon a traitor was to make him King on the Wall, and have him still be Lord-Commander. It was his army that guarded the wall so it's not like much would change. Plus it allowed Edd to get out of doing it. That lasted for about ten seconds until Jon named Edd his right hand man and gave him command on the wall whenever Jon wasn't there or one of the Nazgul wasn't present.

That led to a playful bout of name calling between the two, but it all worked itself out in the end. Jon kept an eye on the wall and the Night's Watch, aiding them and ensuring that they continued to operate smoothly, and whenever a fight broke out, Jon would try to make it there to join the raiding party in wiping out the patrolling Wights.

This was one of those battles. In the distance, Edd could just make out the form of Jon, cutting through a cluster of Wights and pushing towards their leader, a single White Walker.

Longclaw sung as Jon cut down another Wight, each one fell with a pained hiss.

Jon's eyes were alight with flame as he pushed towards the waiting form of a White Walker. It seemed to be studying him, watching him with it's cold, icy blue eyes.

With a powerful swing of his sword, Jon cut down the last wight in his way and advanced on the White Walker. The fiend raised an icy sword and met Jon in a clash of blades.

The two traded blows for several seconds, Jon easily matching the White Walkers speed and strength. Finally the two locked blades and Jon took the opportunity to slam his fist into the side of the White Walkers face, sending it stumbling back with a look of shock. It quickly turned to Jon, then to the hand that had struck it. A hand that should have been frozen, having come into contact with a White Walker's flesh. Instead, it was greeted to the unnatural glow of the One Ring, on Jon's fingers.

The White Walker pulled itself together, letting out an icy hiss as it did.

It quickly shot forward, intending to spear Jon through the chest.

With unnatural speed, Jon spun to the side of the strike, avoiding it and giving himself an opening, which he immediately exploited. His sword was flashing through the air within a moment, and Longclaw cut right through the Walker's icy flesh, shattering it like glass.

As the White Walker crumbled, a scream of pain seemed to echoed out of nowhere as all of the nearby wights collapsed. Unable to stay animated now that the one responsible for raising them was dead.

Jon glanced around the field, looking for any other active Wights. Finding none, he lowered his sword.

"Gather the bodies and burn them. Then we'll head back to the wall." Jon called out earning a collection of various noises from orcs, wildlings, northmen, and men of the Night's Watch.

Jon quickly made his way over to the Edd who was nursing a large bruise on his shoulder.

"Are you going to live?" Jon inquired.

"Maybe. Cold's already numbed the pain and I don't think it's broken." Edd replied, earning a nod from Jon.

"This is the second patrol in a fortnight, and the largest yet. Somethings going on. They're on the move." Edd noted.

"I'll speak with Bran when I get back. See if there's any changes to their movements. Let's deal with these bodies and get out of here." Jon commanded earning a nod from Edd.

Within an hour, the troop was back at the wall. In the year and a half since Jon had brought the Orc army into the north, the wall had been transformed into a fortress. Fifteen thousand now manned it, most of them orcs, but some included northmen volunteers, Night's Watch members, and Wildlings. Each castle had been manned and was brought back up to it's former glory. Many had even been expanded to fit the massive troop that now lived there. Patrols across the wall were a daily occurrence now with a single Wraith working along side Edd to keep the White Walkers out.

The wall itself now sported multiple wooden structures, ranging from towers to additional lifts to various other buildings now built into the ice. The smaller orcs made excellent builders and were fantastic climbers. With their help, and the guidance of skilled architects, the wall looked ready for war.

Once back behind the wall, Jon summoned his dragon.

About a week after learning of his true parentage Jon was convinced by Annatar to hatch the egg. What Jon didn't know was that during that time the Witch King had been secretly performing rituals on the egg, guided by Annatar's will.

These rituals changed the beast within, morphing it, granting it more power and dominating it's will. Tying it to Jon forever more.

What was to be born from the egg would not be a Valyrian dragon, but a true beast of Morgoth. This time though, it would be forged by Annatar's delicate hand.

By the time he was finished, only one thing was needed. A short ritual to hatch the egg. Everything was set up so that when Jon performed the ritual it would tie everything together and unleash a powerful dark creature that would serve him faithfully for the rest of time.

On the appointed night, Jon traveled out of Winterfell, being careful to avoid too much attention. No one save the Nazgul and Melisandre knew what he was up to. The Witch King and Melisandre met him in a clearing in the forest where a ritual circle had already been carved into the ground. All Jon had to do was cut his hand, place blood on the egg, and then cradle it in his arms while the flames were ignited. The flames would wrap around him and the egg and the act would form a bond between Jon and the Dragon. The Ring would protect Jon from the flames, which was something Jon tested before hand just to make sure.

Once there he went through the motions. He cut his hand, placed his blood on the egg, stripped naked and sat in the center of the circle. Two rings of flame were then ignited one by Melisandre and one by the Witch King. One ring of fire was normal while the one ignited by the Witch King was a sickly greenish blue. Close to Wildfire but not exactly.

The two rings of fire eventually grew so large that Jon disappeared within them. Three hours later and the fire died down. Jon was left without so much as a single burn, covered in soot, and cradling a baby dragon in his arms.

The creature was unlike any dragon ever seen in Westeros. It was dark gray with black scales. Close to it's body where the scales protruded it sported a reddish glow. It's eyes could barely be seen. They glowed a powerful red that almost made their appearance vanish behind the glow. Within the tiny creature's mouth was a red glow that matched it's eyes and even carried out through it's nostrils.

Despite being a baby, nothing about the creature was cute. It was monstrous and powerful, even as an infant. It was about the size of a house cat, with six limbs not including it's tail. It had two large wings, two digitigrade hind legs and human-like front arms that ended in human-like hands with three fingers and a thumb on each hand.

Jon was surprised by how terrifying the creature was, and over the next few days he kept a close eye on it. The small dragon was very aggressive and nipped at anyone who got close but it seemed to be greatly affected by Jon's temperament. When Jon first showed it to Sansa and Rickon the little creature growled and snapped at them, but a look from Jon caused it to stop, and ever since then it was fine with their presence. While Jon marveled at the creature's intelligence, Annatar was positively giddy at the prospect of his creation given life.

This newborn dragon was not only smart enough to know it was being scolded, but it was actually in tune with Jon's emotions. It could feel when he was angry and as the days went by, it became apparent that their connection was growing. Within a few weeks, the baby dragon knew who to treat as friend and who to treat with aggression. It knew all of this, based off of Jon's feelings. If Jon liked the person, then the dragon would. If he didn't trust the person, then the dragon wouldn't either. If he hated the person, then the dragon might just try to kill that person.

Only a handful of people in the castle knew about the baby dragon, and Jon made sure that Melisandre kept her mouth shut about how he had hatched it. He knew if Sansa or Rickon knew that he willingly sat in a fire they would probably throw a fit.

Still though, with a dragon now in his possession, he wasn't able to keep the secret of his true parentage for much longer after that.

That had been nearly a year and a half ago. Now Jon watched as a creature the size of two whole wagons fell out of the clouds and landed with a loud thump.

Annatar's creation grew much faster then normal. It was nearly twice the size it should have been but Jon didn't know that. The dragon was big enough to ride now, though it was closer to a full grown drake then an actual dragon in size at this point.

Darkwind. Jon had named him. After Robb's direwolf. Greywind. The dragon was growing larger with each passing day. Red glowing patches were appearing on large plates that grew on the dragon's chest and along the spines that grew from it's neck, arms and legs. Some of these plates looked almost like red crystal, while others looked like stone that started out a bright red and then faded into blackness. **(Red Lyrium Dragon from Heroes of Dragon Age)**

"Hey there boy. Ready to go home?" Jon greeted the dragon earning a bellowing growl. A smirk touched at Jon's lips as he placed a hand on the dragon's head, patting the darkened horns that were rapidly growing from it's skull.

Within moments, Jon was airborne, headed back to Winterfell. On the back of Darkwind he could make the journey from the wall to Winterfell in about eight hours. The sun was just starting to set, which meant Jon would arrive home sometime in the night.

That suited him just fine. It meant there might be a chance he could avoid the firestorm waiting for him back at Winterfell. Jon scowled as he heard Annatar snicker in his mind. His ancient companion found it amusing that Jon was so terrified of his wives.

In the year and a half since becoming King in the North, Jon had taken two wives. The first had been planned. Not wanting to have a bastard, and being in love, Jon had asked her to marry him. The second was more… unconventional. Given the circumstances.

His first wife, Sansa Stark. A small smile touched at his lips as he recalled the awkward weeks that followed his appointment as King in the North. The two spent a lot of time together in those early weeks. Sansa was acting as Lady of Winterfell and Jon was king. A lot needed to be done. The occasional brush or accidental touch would cause both to blush. This continued on for several weeks until Arya finally made an appearance. Showing up one day with her old Direwolf, Nymeria by her side.

The Stark children held a tearful reunion, especially Jon and Arya, the former of who, thought the latter was dead.

A few days later and Bran arrived in Winterfell, escorted there from the wall. It brought great comfort to all of them to be with each other again despite how each of them had changed.

Jon and Sansa continued to work together after Bran informed them that he would not be taking his position as Lord of Winterfell, and that it could go to any of them. Something incredible had occurred to him during his time away, and it had granted him great power, but also left him a bit out of it. Almost in a dream-like state. Still though, he had made his choice, so Sansa was still the Lady of Winterfell.

It was about three days after Bran had returned home that Sansa walked into Jon's room one night. She had said something along the lines of the gods having answered most of her prayers these last few weeks, and that she hoped they'd answer at least one more.

 **-Flashback-**

Jon stared at Sansa with a confused look. She stared back for several moments, before crossing the distance and pulling Jon into a searingly passionate kiss.

Shock was Jon's first reaction. That Sansa was actually kissing him, had been furthest from his mind, in terms of possibilities, that when it happened he could only stand there dumbly, feeling the softness of her lips against his.

After several seconds she pulled away, her eyes falling to the ground. She didn't say anything, instead she began to play with her hands and bite at her lips.

It took nearly a full thirty seconds before she was able to pull her eyes off the ground and raise them to meet Jon's stunned gaze.

More silence extended between the two before finally, Jon reacted.

"Sansa..." He muttered, still in shock as his brain finally pulled the pieces of his psyche back together and he began functioning again.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have done that. I…" Sansa started to say, only to be cut off when Jon crossed the distance and pulled her into another kiss. This time the two actually shared in one as Sansa almost immediately began to return the kiss.

Jon felt Sansa's hands slide up to caress his face, while his own hands found a resting spot on her hips.

The two remained kissing for nearly a full minute before separating. When they did the two locked eyes and just stared at each other for several long moments. Finally Jon ended up smiling and resting his forehead to Sansa's, earning a smile from her as well.

Neither knew at that moment where they were going, but come hell or high water, the two had decided to walk that path together.

 **-End Flashback-**

The following days were filled with the two slowly building up their relationship in secret. Most people were completely unaware, though a few took notice, like Bran, Rickon, and Arya.

Bran didn't seem to really care, and was generally just being his weird self. He would offer the occasional offhanded comment, but rarely addressed their relationship in any manner that insinuated that he felt one way or the other about it. When asked what he truly thought, his reply was that the two would do well together, and so long as they had each other, they would do great things. What he meant by that, wasn't actually elaborated on, but it did leave Sansa and Jon with a few thoughtful discussions in an attempt to interpret his meaning.

Rickon was supportive, saying that they were all family and so long as they stuck together, no one could beat them.

Arya though… well unbeknownst to Jon, Arya had actually had a crush on Jon when she was younger, and as a result of seeing Sansa and Jon together, began to develop a bit of a jealous streak. She began to intentionally butt heads with Sansa as the two progressed through their relationship.

It started with little things, like the occasional underhanded comments that Jon usually either overlooked or simply didn't hear, but Sansa usually did. But eventually it elevated to full blown arguments between the two.

Within a month of starting their relationship, Sansa found her way into Jon's bed. A month afterwards and Jon asked her to marry him.

The two ended up having a quiet ceremony in the Godswood, out of sight and out of mind of the rest of the north. Very few people had a problem with their union. Even Jon's advisers like Ser Davos offered their support. Normally they would have advised caution since a marriage was a powerful political tool, but considering the size of Jon's army, he really didn't need to marry some daughter of a lord to gain the favor needed to field a larger army.

Besides that, a marriage between Jon and Sansa would secure the North as any dissenters who may have had second thoughts about making Jon the King or Sansa ruling Winterfell until Rickon came of age, would be quieted down now that pure Stark Blood was tied to the Kingship and the man who had actually killed Ramsay Bolton was now technically the Lord of Winterfell, even though Jon still left it's running in Sansa's capable hands.

To many, their marriage was viewed as Jon's attempt to fully secure control of the North, ensuring Stark reign, and security, despite that being around the time, that people began to suspect his Targaryen lineage due to the Dragon that was seen following him about from time to time.

The only person that wasn't happy about their marriage was Arya, which led Jon to think about his second wife. Following their union, Sansa moved into Jon's room, neither bothering to hide their relationship, and Sansa being named his queen.

That's when the fights intensified between Sansa and Arya. Jon was in the dark about this early on as the two often sniped one another with underhanded comments whenever Jon wasn't around. The source of their arguments was almost always centered around Jon, with Arya thinking Sansa was just using him so that she could be a queen, and Sansa thinking Arya was just being a jealous, paranoid little girl.

This formed a rivalry between the two that lasted for a few months until finally Jon walked in on the two having a yelling match. Deciding he'd had enough of this he demanded to know what the two were fighting about. A lot of things were said or shouted as both tried to explain that the other was a terrible person. Jon spent most of the fight just looking between the two, unable to figure out the root of their problem until Arya just flat out said, she didn't think Sansa was good enough for Jon.

This led to the two sisters glaring at one another, until Sansa just smirked and walked right up to Jon and kissed him hard on the lips. She then threw a superior smirk at Arya, who's glare deepened. It was then Arya's turn to walk right up to Jon, and kiss him just as hard as Sansa had.

Jon was naturally gobsmacked by this sudden occurrence. It was right about now that he realized why Arya was in such a bad mood these last few months. After the two separated, Arya looked embarrassed, as if she hadn't actually intended to do that, and her body just reacted.

While Jon stood there staring dumbly at Arya, Arya shuffled back and forth with a bit of embarrassment while wearing a small smile, and Sansa glowered at the two, her arms folded across her chest.

Sansa's reaction was the most confusing for Jon. She didn't seem mad, more so she seemed like she had just been issued a challenge. The way she narrowed her eyes at Arya, was like her way of acknowledging the challenge.

After a few moments, Sansa turned to Jon, and asked him how they compared.

The devilish smirk that appeared on his wife's face, keyed him in that he should be very careful with how he answered.

Now both of them were staring at him. Jon's eyes darted between the two, and after a moment, he decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and loudly called for a guard.

A few moments later a guard walked in, asking if everything was alright.

Jon then looked at Sansa and said that he was needed elsewhere and then left with the confused guard. Leaving the two sisters alone to fight over this most recent development.

A chaotic week followed with Jon spending his time avoiding the two, though when he did spend time with them, both were trying to gain his attention. Both sisters were much more touchy then they were before. During private meetings when Jon and Sansa would discuss plans for the future she was more flirtatious, while during training with Arya, Jon found that she was much more physical. Touching him, running her hands across his chest, or occasionally getting into positions that allowed her to press her body to his.

This time was maddening for Jon because he truly did love Arya. She had always treated him kindly and he cared for her since they were children, but Jon was a loyal man. He desperately wanted Sansa to demand him to put a stop to it. If she only said the words, Jon would have done just that. He didn't want to hurt Arya, but he would, to honor his vows to Sansa. If only she said something. But no. Sansa actually seemed to take it as a challenge whenever Arya would try to flirt with Jon.

What Jon didn't know until much later, was the two already had reached an agreement that they would share him. Their rivalry and antics were just how they were, how they had always been. The reason why Sansa never asked Jon to put a stop to it was because she didn't want him too.

A few nights later and Jon finally decided to have a talk with Sansa to find out what he should be doing because he was currently in way over his head and unfortunately, this was one of the few occasions where Annatar was of no help. Only laughing at him whenever he tried to ask for advice.

After staring at him for several long minutes, Sansa came to the realization that Jon would probably never make the choice she wanted him to make so she just decided to put an end to the game and she just explained to him that they had planned on sharing him. They had both decided that Jon was the only one good enough for either of them. They wanted him, but they weren't going to let him be the thing that tore the sisters apart again, so they had just decided to share him. The last few weeks had just been them teasing him.

To prove her point, she went and retrieved Arya, and that night, they shared their bed with her. This continued for about three weeks when Jon decided he wasn't going to father a bastard, and if Arya was going to be a part of his life, fully and completely, then she was going to be a part of it. Fully and completely. He wouldn't have her as a mistress or a secret lover. If she was going to join them, then it would be as an equal, and he asked her to marry him.

If it was possible, their marriage was even quieter then Jon's and Sansa's. From that day forward, Jon shared his life and his bed, with his two wives. Two sisters that constantly butted heads, and challenged one another, and who had differing views on almost everything, but loved each other enough to never let their fighting tear the two apart.

With both women by his side, Jon gained a much wider view of the world. Sansa had learned much during her time in the South and in the company of Littlefinger. She knew how to play the game of politics and thus served as a useful adviser when it came to dealing with the Lords and Ladies of the North. Arya was much more militant then her sister, having spent time on the road with the Hound, and in the company of the Faceless Men of Bravos. She was a killer, through and through. She was cunning, and wise, knowing how to deal with threats before those threats even realized what kind of trouble they were in. Jon already knew how effective Arya could be in that regard, as she had regaled him of tales of what she had done to the Freys before arriving at Winterfell.

It only took a week after her marriage to Jon that Arya fully embraced the historical repeat and became like Visenya Targaryen. She named herself the commander of his Kingsguard, and instead of sitting by his side, like Sansa would, she stood opposite of Brienne as his guard. Brienne stood for Sansa, and Arya for Jon. It was quite amusing for Jon seeing his short, almost non-threatening wife standing opposite the tall, broad, heavily armored Brienne of Tarth, but it was definitely something Arya took pride in. Arya's stature did make her seem less threatening, but one look in her eyes, told you all that you needed to know. It didn't hurt that she was usually flanked by Nymeria, who was often traveling with Ghost.

Despite enjoying the married life, it still, even to this day, annoyed Arya when people called her 'your grace', or even 'my Queen'. That had been part of the reason she had chosen to stand as his guardian during meetings rather then sitting as his queen, like Sansa did. She hated people addressing her like that, and preferred to stay out of the spotlight.

Jon knew his wives would be waiting for him when he returned, and he knew they would be angry. Two days prior he had received a letter from Edd, detailing how a band of Wights had been seen near the wall, and he had left on Darkwind almost immediately to assist the Night's Watch.

This hadn't been the first time, and it was a major source of argument for the Starks to deal with. He knew Sansa and Arya were going to chew him out for leaving so suddenly. Especially Arya, who was less angry that he had left, and more angry that he had done so without her.

These thoughts occupied Jon's mind as he made his way home. Only when Winterfell was closing in did he turn his thoughts to other matters like the events of his reign as king and the changes he'd been making to the north.

Bran's arrival was one of the first major turning points. Bran now called himself the Three-Eyed Raven. He could Warg into various beasts and even see into the past and possibly even the future. Annatar called him a Far-Seer. One with the gift of foresight.

That made Bran one of the most valuable advisers in all the world. He was a man, with greater sight then even the elves that Annatar spoke of with a minor degree of respect. Bran was a gift, one that had proven, and would continue to prove a valuable aid to Jon and the North for many years to come.

The second major change to occur was Jon fully establishing his own personal council. He named Ser Davos Seaworth as his Hand. He had experience from his time with Stannis, and he was loyal. Jon found him to be an excellent adviser. One who kept Jon level headed, and worked well with Sansa to keep Jon and Arya from embracing their inner wolves and commencing a brutal campaign of outright slaughter against their enemies. Jon knew he had to be smart. He had the element of surprise with his new found army, he could do wondrous things with it, so long as he planned accordingly and used every advantage he could.

On Jon's Council was Sansa, Arya, Rickon, Bran, Ser Davos, Tormund, Melisandre, Samwell Tarly, Annatar, and Ser Jaime Lannister. Those last three had interesting stories to them.

Samwell Tarly returned from Old town with Gilly and little Sam a short time after Bran arrived back in Winterfell. Sam brought back with him information on where they could find dragonglass as well as information pertaining to Jon's parentage, including the name of the septom that had wed the two, as well as the fact that Rhaegar had annulled his marriage to Elia Martell.

Jon was happy to have Sam back as the man was wise and knowledgeable and despite his cowardice and lack of martial skill, Sam was a good man who had always come through for Jon in the past. Sam had even returned with his family's ancestral Valyrian steel sword Heartsbane which he presented to Jon asking him to find someone to wield it. Their joyful reunion though was cut short when Bran brought news of Daenerys Targaryen's assault on the Lannister and Tarly forces, that ended in Dickon and Randall Tarly being burned alive.

Sam was naturally devastated. It broke Jon's heart to see him like that. He knew Sam cared little for his father, but he dearly loved his little brother. Jon vowed to his friend that when the time came he would repay his aunt for that, in whatever form that repayment came in.

Of course Sam tried to talk him out of it, but Jon was adamant that burning prisoners alive was unjust, and his aunt had crossed a line in doing such. Even Jon had spared the lives of the captured Bolton men, going so far as to place them in his own army, each one being forced to serve his force for a duration of ten years, in exchange for their freedom. He also sent all of them to the wall, so that they could be the first to face the White Walkers in battle, and if they died, then little would be lost. They were basically prisoners, but they were granted some freedoms. Though at the end of the day, they were kept under strict watch and if they were caught attempting anything nefarious or even trying to leave, they were hung and then had their bodies burned and their ashes used to fill in the latrine pits.

After a few months of working alongside his newly formed council Jon decided to reveal to them the truth of his newfound strength and skills, as well as his personal adviser. Annatar was able to manifest before people so long as he was in proximity to Jon. People had seen him before when Jon was fighting, but otherwise, no one knew what he was or where he had come from.

After revealing himself to Jon's council and having Jon explain to them Annatar's reason to help, they slowly began to see the ethereal being as a fellow adviser and a wise man. All of them were grateful to Annatar, and as time went on, began to see him as a cunning, yet straightforward and practical individual. One who never asked more then what was possible, and had been willing to help them in exchange for a simple promise.

It also didn't hurt their reverence that Melisandre openly believed that Annatar was the Lord of Light, R'hllor himself and that Jon was Azor Ahai. His champion and Vessel.

Since then, Annatar would manifest any time a meeting was taking place with Jon's personal council. He would advise them, using his many years of experience to offer them greater insight into issues or various problems they may have been facing. He also aided the North into getting into contact with the Tribes of Harad, the kingdoms of Rhun, and through them, Annatar's own Kingdom, Mordor. All of which lay across the Shivering Sea, North of Essos.

Annatar's presence became a common thing, and though he was often cordial with most of Jon's advisers, he held a specific relationship with Bran. Jon didn't quite understand it but somehow, Bran could speak with Annatar no matter where he was. Occasionally Jon would hear Annatar begin to whisper, and he knew in those moments he was speaking with Bran.

When asked what the two were speaking of, the answer was always a bit more vague then Jon would have liked. The two often spoke of destiny and the future. More specifically, Jon's destiny, and the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.

The two of them knew something, something they were either unable or unwilling to share with Jon. If Jon had to guess, it probably had to do with Jon's destiny. All Jon could do was hope that whatever his destiny was, it involved stopping the Night King and saving Westeros. Beyond that, Jon really didn't care much.

A few months after Bran had shown up, Ser Jaime Lannister rode up to Winterfell with a thousand men at his back. He had come at Bran's summons. This surprised all of the Starks save for Bran himself.

When Jaime and his captains were brought before Jon, they didn't sneer or mutter dark curses under their breath. Instead all of them dropped to a knee and offered him their swords. The lord of Casterly Rock was even willing to offer his formal oath of service, signifying that the Lannisters would serve the King in the North as their King, instead of Cercei.

This was naturally met with great skepticism. Bran had offered his assurances that Ser Jaime was needed in the war for the Dawn. He was meant to join them, and so to ensure that time was not wasted, Bran had sent a raven to Ser Jaime, explaining a few things to him. What information was contained on the letter, Jon didn't fully know. What he did know was that Bran had hinted to Jaime Lannister about Jon's true parentage. Which was met with uneasiness from most of the rest of the Starks.

That information still hadn't been officially released, even though many began to suspect as by that time Darkwind had grown large enough for people to start noticing him.

Jon remembered that day quite vividly.

 **-Flashback-**

"You fought my brother Robb during the War of the Five Kings." Jon noted as he stood over the kneeling Lannister troop.

"I did, your grace." Jaime replied, his face stoic and formal. A soldier's hardiness, through and through.

"You fought my father at King's Landing." Jon continued. His eyes were boring into Jaime Lannister, and he could feel Sansa's, Arya's and Rickon's doing much the same.

"His wife had just kidnapped my baby brother, but yes, I did fight him." Jaime offered as an explanation but he kept his head low.

"Your father orchestrated the murder of many of my Northern brothers. Catelyn Stark and Robb Stark died at the Red Wedding." Jon stated, his voice growing colder with each word.

"He's dead now, and from what I've seen of the twins, Walder Frey met his own end at the hands of wolves. If it's any consolation, all of the stories of my father's noble assassination are a fabrication. Tyrion murdered him while he was on the privy." Jaime again offered. This earned him a snort of amusement from Arya who had been responsible for the Frey's massacre and for suggesting Jon send troops to take the castle for the North.

"Lady Brienne has informed me that you dispatched her from King's Landing in search of Arya and Sansa." Jon stated.

Jaime offered a nod at that, his eyes slowly drifting over to where Brienne stood, standing stoically by Sansa's side. She made no movement but offered him the slightest of nods which he returned in thanks.

"Why?" Jon asked.

"Catelyn Stark. When she released me from Robb Stark's camp it was with the promise that I would try my hardest to secure her daughter's freedom. I swore an oath. Despite what you may think of me, I do have my honor." Jaime replied. His words earned dark mutterings from the crowd of Northern Lords that had been present when he arrived. Many wanted to have him executed and be done with it.

"I should hate you, for what your family has done to mine. I should have you and your men put to the sword. But I wont. Killing you all would be a waste of time. Despite my feelings, I have to look past that. Bran says you're needed. I don't know why, and I don't like it, but he hasn't led me astray yet, and I don't think he'll start any time soon. You and your men will be watched. But you've sworn oaths. I am your king now. If I get so much as a single inkling of possible betrayal, I'll have you and every one of your men hung as traitors." Jon commanded earning a nod from Jaime and many of his captains.

 **-End Flashback-**

After that meeting Jon and his family had their own meeting where they questioned Bran about why he had summoned Ser Jaime to Winterfell.

His answer was vague, but he offered a few insights into how he managed to convince the King Slayer to betray his own sister.

Apparently, things were not all sunshine and rainbows in King's Landing. Cercei Lannister had blown up the Sept of Bailor using Wildfire. She had killed hundreds in that attack. And it had resulted in the death of Queen Margeary and the subsequent suicide of Cercei's Child Tommen. Which Bran reaffirmed was also Jaime's child.

Bran assured them that Jaime was needed and that he could be trusted. The thousand men at his back weren't run of the mill infantrymen. Many of them were knights, sworn to house Lannister. Most of the soldiers at his back were highly trained. Veteran soldiers. The kind of thing the North needed more of.

Within a week, Jon had decided what he would do with Ser Jaime. He placed the man, and his one thousand, in charge of training Jon's army. Teaching them combat tactics as well as formations. Jon also spent time learning from Jaime himself on battle tactics Jaime had developed or learned during the recent wars, as well as learning information on Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons.

Things were tense at first with Jaime Lannister. The man was aloof at times, while at other times he was quite snarky, willing to offer up a witty comment at meetings, much to Jon's chagrin.

Still though, Jaime wasn't blind, and much like everyone else, he picked up on the dragon Jon had in his possession. He never asked, though the look on his face when he once caught Jon in the Godswood, learning to play Rhaegar's harp, showed that he was quickly starting to believe what Bran had hinted at.

It was a month or two later when Jaime finally brought it up in conversation. He was walking by while Jon was busy training in the yards and he commented that while he may sing like his father, he was more like Ser Arthur Dayne when it came to his skill with a blade.

Jon had only been mildly surprised when he heard that, but it didn't take him long at all to put two and two together. Jaime had been a Kingsguard. He knew Rhaegar personally.

It was a short while after that, that Jon brought Jaime into his council, officially making him a general in his army. Through hard work and determination, Jaime and his men had helped to turn the orcs and the northmen into a much more refined fighting force. While the orcs themselves were difficult, they did learn, and the Uruk-hai absorbed the knowledge with incredible hunger. Within six months, Jon's army went from simply a massive force, to a massive force with the fighting prowess of the army Tywin Lannister helped to create.

Discipline found its way into the orc ranks. Structure as well. The Lannister men were cold and ruthless and the orcs respected them for it. Even the Northmen came to respect their old foe and learned all there was to know of how the south did battle.

It was when Jon offered Jaime a position on his council, that Jaime, in an act of gratitude, presented the Stark's with Widow's Wail. He informed them that it was the other half to Oathkeeper, the sword Brienne carried, both remnants of the Stark ancestral sword Ice.

Jon and his family were grateful to have it back, and Jon himself decided to rename the blade to Winter's Bane.

It was kept at Winterfell now, waiting for the day someone with the skill and drive could wield it. Oathkeeper was to remain in Brienne's possession so long as she served house Stark, they only asked that she have it returned to them after her passing, whenever that was. Winter's Bane would also find it's way into the hands of a Stark champion, whenever Jon found someone worthy of it.

He had considered Arya for it, but she said the blade wouldn't suit her Water Dancing, so unless they wanted to melt it down and reforge it again, it was best to keep it for another.

While cautious at first, the members of Jon's council came to respect Jaime and he became an equal member, aiding them in their fight against the Night King. Over the many months he had been there, Jaime made several trips to the wall to see the Wights for himself and work with Edd to formulate battle strategies to use against them.

These thoughts occupied Jon's mind as he slowly descended to just outside of Winterfell.

The castle itself had been expanded over the year and a half since Jon had reclaimed it. It had also been fully repaired. A large city was slowly building up around, Winter Town was growing and would soon surround all of Winterfell. A wooden wall had been built around the perimeter of the newly established town, providing Winterfell with even more defenses. The wall itself was ten feet wide, and twenty feet tall, built by Trolls and giants in a matter of weeks.

Stone was quickly finding it's way to the newly built wall. Within several months the wooden wall would be replaced with stone, turning it into a true battlement that would keep out invaders.

Jon landed just outside the gates, which were closed. Outside of the gates, two orcs stood watch with many others patrolling the walls. Jon approached the gate, which opened for him without so much as a word. Darkwind let out some dark growls before taking flight and heading off to the forest to hunt something. Jon was just about to pass through the gate when a wolf's howl caught his ear.

He turned and stared off into the forest nearby. He knew who it was howling. Ghost, welcoming him back.

Jon allowed a smile to touch at his lips as he passed through the gates, earning a bow from the orcs as he passed. He marched through Winter Town, the streets were devoid of humans, but there were plenty of Orcs, Uruks, and Olegs moving about, either on patrol, or busy working.

Jon quickly made his way to the castle. He moved through it with complete silence, trying his best to avoid causing a ruckus so early in the morning.

He arrived at his room which was flanked on either side by two loyal bannermen. Both offered him bows as he took pause at the door. Jon knew it didn't exactly look the best when the King himself was hesitant to enter his own room, but he also knew that he could take people snickering at him, much better then he could take the hellstorm of his two wives chewing him out for running off to fight the White Walkers.

So with a deep sigh he pushed the door open and marched inside. Much to his surprise, he found a fire lit, and both sisters awake, waiting for him. Sansa sat in a chair by the fire, while Arya sat on the bed. Both looked like they had known he was coming.

" _Bran."_ Jon thought to himself as he shut the door behind him. He knew that his wives had probably pestered Bran relentlessly while he was gone for information on how Jon was doing and when he would return.

The two women were silent as Jon entered the room and made his way over to a table where he removed Longclaw and placed it on it's surface. He then unfastened his cloak that Sansa had made for him, and placed it there as well.

Once that was done. He walked over to the bed, feeling their eyes on his with every step he took. He sat on one side of the bed and went through the motions of removing his shoes, and most of his clothes until he was left only in his breeches.

He then let out a loud sign and laid down on the bed. Several long moments of silence went by, as he waited for one of the two to begin speaking. He knew it was coming, it was just a matter of time until one of them spoke up to voice their displeasure.

"So… another successful battle?" Sansa inquired.

"Another White Walker to the grave. Along with a hundred Wights." Jon responded, his eyes locked on the ceiling.

"A hundred? That's the largest group yet." Sansa replied, sharing a glance with Arya.

"I know. I'll speak with Bran in the morning. See if there's anything new he can tell me." Jon informed them.

"You left without saying anything." Arya finally breached the issue, that they all knew was hanging over them.

"I was in a hurry. It's just like Sansa said, this was the largest group yet, and the second time in a month. I can't shake the feeling that there's something that they know that we don't." Jon responded, knowing full well that neither would simply accept that answer.

"You still should have told us." Sansa stated as she rose from her chair and approached the bed.

"I let Ser Davos know I was leaving. I didn't have time to go looking for the two of you, just so we could have this argument before I left." Jon stated as he felt Sansa sit on the opposite side of the bed.

"Jon..." Sansa began, but Jon merely let out a loud sigh and rubbed at his face.

"I know what you're going to say Sansa. Believe me, if there were any other way, I would gladly remove the White Walkers from my mind, but there isn't. They are the greatest threat that we face. I have to treat every incident like it could be the prelude to their invasion. Anything less will invite disaster. All it'll take is one lapse in judgment and they could be south of the Wall. I wont let that happen. I simply will not." Jon stated fervently, turning his head to look at his wife, who was staring down at him with equal parts anger, sadness, uncertainty, and concern.

"Why does it have to be you though?" Sansa asked, earning another sigh from Jon as he pulled himself up so that he was sitting.

"You know why." Jon responded as he held up his hand, showing off the ring that adorned his fingers. The room almost seemed to grow impossibly quiet for a single moment, as if nature itself was allowing for a second of reverence to come and pass before continuing.

"I know you have powers, but so do the wraiths. So do some of the war-chiefs, why does it always have to be you?" Sansa pressed, while Arya kept her eyes locked firmly on Jon, watching him intently.

"The power of the Dark Lord's army is so great that even the dead are weary of it. The Night King knows that this army can defeat his. He knows that the Wraiths can fight his Walkers, and he knows that I can fight him. I hold the power of darkness and flame in my hand, and he knows to be weary of it. That's what's stopping him from attacking. It's the Ring, and the being attached to it. The Night King is weary of Annatar, and Annatar is bound to me so long as I carry the Ring. He cannot be at the wall if I am not there as well. Every time I go up to the wall I remind the White Walkers that the thing they fear is standing before them, and that gives them pause. The moment I stop going there, and reminding them of that, the moment I get complacent, is the moment everything falls apart. I know you don't like it. I know neither of you wants me to go up there, and believe me, if I had the choice I would stay here, with both of you. But I don't. So long as the Night King exists, I have to be there to meet him. Any day, he could launch an attack. His army is only about fifty miles from the wall and he's ever so slowly closing that gap." Jon responded, with a great deal of passion, resolve, and weariness.

Both sisters shared a look, knowing that Jon was right about that. It didn't make either feel any better, but both of them knew that the Ring was their bulwark against an invasion of the undead. They needed it's presence on the Wall, when the White Walkers came snooping about.

Sansa let out a sigh and turned her gaze off to something else in the room. Meanwhile Arya kept her focus on Jon and crawled over to him, until the two were face to face.

Despite knowing that she was probably mad, Jon had to try very hard to avoid smiling. Since returning to Winterfell, it was obvious that Arya had grown into a ruthless killer. What she had done to the Frey's and what she was willing to do to others, it was often times, shocking when she would offer a bloodthirsty suggestion to deal with various problems. At times it was hard to decide who was more ruthless, Arya, or the Orcs. Jon was the only one who could never seem to be unnerved when she got like that. Perhaps it was because he had always seen her for who she truly was, and knew that she had always been this way, at least in part. Or perhaps he just couldn't see her as anything other then the little girl she used to be. Regardless of the answer, Jon never felt intimidated by her glare. Where even Brienne would be unnerved, Jon was forced to fight off a smile, which usually served to just piss Arya off more.

"You left me here." Arya stated, her voice cold, and her eye filled with fury.

Jon knew it have been coming. He knew that's what Arya was really pissed about. Her threat was just a bit undermined though do to her using his legs to prop herself up just a bit taller so that the two were eye to eye.

"I did." Jon replied after a moment.

"Jon..." Arya began but Jon cut her off by placing a hand on the back of her head and holding her in place as he pressed his forehead to hers.

"I didn't leave you hear because I think you're weak. And it's not because you're a lady. You know why I left you here. I need you to protect Bran, and Rickon, and Sansa. You're the only one I trust to watch out for them while I'm away." Jon replied in his best soothing tone. He knew when Arya got like this, she was a likely to explode at the drop of a hat. He had to be very careful with his wording and to not sound like he was talking down to her, or else she would pick up on it, call him out, and then demand that he meet her down in the yards, where he'd have to endure an ass kicking in front of everyone.

"There are hundreds of people in this castle who would give their lives to protect our family." Arya began, but Jon was quick to reply.

"And none of them are you." Jon responded, his eyes locked with her. Silence filled the room as the two remained locked in a battle of wills. They had, had this argument so many times by now that it was almost routine. Jon knew what they would both say, and they knew what his response would be. Both sides would be frustrated at the other, and then in the morning they'd spend the day sniping at one another before moving past it by mid to late afternoon.

Arya's glare held for several moments before she leaned back, shut her eyes, and took in what seemed to be a calming breath.

Jon had to fight not to physically cringe at her reaction. He knew what that would mean for the morning. The two of them, in the training yards, and he'd walk away with a few more cuts thanks to needle.

Finally she moved off of him and settled into bed next to him. Jon took the opportunity to lay back and shut his eyes, as his wives settled in.

Sleep came quickly and in the morning, just as Jon had predicted, he found himself out in the training yard with Arya. The two of them did their dance, Arya moving swiftly around him, and Jon keeping light on his feet to avoid getting nicked by Needle.

It took about an hour, but Arya was eventually satisfied with the mornings training, and let him leave. From there, Jon found his way to the main hall, where he and Sansa proceeded to carry out their courtly duties.

Much had changed in the year and a half since Jon had taken over. Where once, this lord or that, would come to him with complaints about the minor things, or about the Orcs in their lands, now only important issues were brought up and dealt with.

Jon made several things very clear to the various lords and ladies in the North. The only peasants that should be coming to Winterfell with complaints are those who lived near Winterfell. Everyone else had a lord or lady ruling over their respective homes that they were meant to meet with if they had a problem. If peasants were coming to Jon with problems, then it was obvious that their lords weren't doing their jobs, and if that were the case, Jon would find someone to replace them.

As for the complaints about infringes on their lands, or whatever rights they believed they had, Jon, Sansa, and Arya made sure to remind them that the Starks took back Winterfell with their own army. Only a handful of houses had actually helped them, and those houses were now treated as friends and allies. Everyone else had to earn any sort of friendship they had once had. Jon's army was set to work fortifying the North. They built forts and castles all around the North in preperation for future wars and possible uprisings.

Many Northern lords weren't too happy about hearing the bastard king talk down to them, but they were soon quieted when Jon would have an Oleg or two take up position next to the person complaining. A simple and stern reminder that the Starks now ruled with a tight grip on the North. The ere of relying on others had come and passed. The Starks were independent now, and anyone who served them, served them completely. No more pleasantries or niceties, especially with those that refused the call or outright threatened to have Jon killed and Sansa sold back to the Boltons.

So now a days, only important issues came to Jon and his queens.

Late into the proceedings Maester Wolkin stepped in and motioned for Ser Davos to step over to speak with him. The two then stepped out for several minutes, only for Ser Davos to return and whisper into Jon's ear that a letter had arrived from Dragonstone, bearing the sigil of House Targaryen.

Jon quickly called the proceedings to a halt and ordered his council to gather. Once the room was clear and his councilors had gathered in the room, Jon was given the message. He broke the seal and read it's contents.

" _To the Lord of Winterfell._

 _I Tyrion Lannister, Hand of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, and acting in accordance with her will, send you this message demanding that the lords of the North bend the knee and swear fealty to the rightful Queen of Westeros. Cercei Lannister is no friend of North, and would see it turned to ash and left in ruin. Queen Daenerys offers her aide to the North and swears that should the Northern Lords bend the knee, that the Starks will hold a position of prominence in court as well as a seat on her Small Council. Her Grace acknowledges the state of the weather and asks that a reply be given by raven, and that the Lords of Winterfell ride south at their earliest convenience to swear fealty in person. Join with us, and we will see Cercei punished for her crimes against the peoples of Westeros. Join with Daenerys Targaryen and your enemies will become her enemies. All enemies of the Targaryens will meet the same fate. One doused in Fire and Blood._

 _We expect your raven within the fortnight._

 _Signed; Tyrion Lannister. Hand of the Queen."_

Jon made a face as he passed the letter to Sansa who reread it's contents.

"So your dearest aunt has finally turned her attention to the North." Annatar noted as he manifested by Jon's side.

"I would see so." Jon replied with a sigh, as the letter made the rounds, passing from Sansa to Arya, then to Ser Jaime who made a face and shook his head before passing it on to Sam.

"Well then… it looks like the south will be needing my attention sooner then I had hoped." Jon muttered as he turned his head to share a look with Sansa and Arya, both of whom stared back at him, knowing that he had a plan in store for dealing with his fire happy aunt.

"Shall we give her what she wants?" Annatar inquired.

"Yes. Fire and Blood." Jon responded as he rose to his feet and turned to march out of the room, leaving his council behind, deep in thought. Jon needed to speak with the Wraiths. More specifically the Witch King. He knew one day he'd have to deal with the South so preparations had been made for that eventuality. He had simply hoped that the Night King could have been dealt with first. No matter. They were ready for this, he simply needed to set everything in motion.

Daenerys Targaryen… Aunt or not, would not have the North. The North was his kingdom, and if she intended to try and make a claim for it, then he would meet her claim with one of his own. Fire and Blood would meet Fire and Blood.

 **-To be continued-**

 _ **Alright there you go. Hope everyone enjoyed. I know it seems like I'm going a bit fast but I didn't want to just follow all of the shows elements. Now that we're far past them, I can make this story my own. :)**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**K so here's the next chapter. This story isn't exactly going to be a fast burn, I'm gonna take it slow in some areas. There will be plenty of battles, and plenty of political intrigue but the story isn't gonna be laid out all in one chapter, it'll unfold as the story goes on.**_

 _ **Rise of the Dark Lord**_

 _ **Chapter 4: Shadow's Wrath**_

 **-Two Days Later-**

"Are we ready?" Jaime inquired as he stared across the table at Jon.

"We're as close to being ready as we can possibly be. Still doesn't mean I like having to turn my attention away from the Wall. The Night King needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later, but I also can't ignore eighty thousand Dothraki screamers and three dragons. Both armies pose a threat to the North." Jon responded with a sigh.

"Sometimes that's the hand the gods give us. We just have to make the right decision now." Jaime responded.

"Well… there's no point in waiting any longer. The Witch King has gathered a host at the twins and is ready to repel any attacker from the south. Now all we have to do is let the Raven's fly and see how she responds." Jon said earning a nod from the Lord of Casterly Rock.

"What do you think she's like? Daenerys I mean. The things people say about her, and her actions, it's all a bit confusing." Jon inquired, as he turned a pensive gaze out over the near empty room the two were sitting in.

"Well… I can't say I've ever spoken with her. What I can say is that I saw her in battle. She was beautiful, like all the stories say. And despite her stature, even on the ground, in the middle of a battle she held herself tall. I don't know what all that means, what I do know is that I know my brother. Tyrion wouldn't serve someone who didn't fit his flowery ideals of right and wrong to a tee. My father treated him horribly, and in the end, Tyrion murdered him for it, something I never would have expected, but I guess my father finally pushed him too far. So… maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he's changed, and in that case I can't even infer what kind of person Daenerys Targaryen is." Jaime responded earning a nod from Jon.

"She burned the Tarly's alive because they wouldn't serve her." Jon noted.

"You let Sansa feed Ramsey Bolton to his own dogs." Jaime reminded him.

"Yes but that was different. I wasn't killing him because he wouldn't serve me. I wasn't even killing him for his father's crimes. Roose Bolton betrayed Robb at the twins. Roose Bolton stole the North from us. Roose Bolton was murdered at the hands of his son. I let Ramsey get eaten by his own dogs because of what he did to Sansa. There was reason behind it. Does that justify it? I don't know. You'd have to ask the gods. I didn't know the Tarly's. All I knew about them, came from Sam. According to Sam, his father was a cunt, but he never really mentioned his brother. Considering his father favored him, I'm guessing the little brother wasn't exactly the best brother in the world to Sam, but who is? All I do know is that they were his family. Sam's brother and father are dead, and his mother and sisters are now alone at Horn Hill with no one to protect them." Jon tried to explain, earning a thoughtful look from Jaime in response.

"So… what is the greater injustice? How do we measure our acts? If you behead a lawbreaker, how does that differ from killing the enemy?" Jaime inquired, honestly curious to hear what the King would say in reply.

"Killing the enemy on the battlefield is one thing. Killing men who've you've captured is another. A captured foe is a helpless one. If she were punishing them for their betrayal of House Tyrell I could maybe understand it, but Bran walked me through the vision he saw. Not once did he mention anything about their betrayal. Daenerys demanded they bend the knee. When the Tarly's refused, they were executed to prove a point. That's the part I can't shake. I don't even know if she cared about their betrayal. I don't even think she gave a damn about the Tyrells. All she seemed to care about, from what Bran told me, is having them serve her. If it had anything to do with their betrayal she would have had all of the men hung as traitors. But she didn't. She didn't care about their betrayal. She just wanted more soldiers. The second they bent the knee, she welcomed them in with open arms." Jon again explained where he stood.

"Remember, I was captured once, and I ended up escaping. You always face that possibility when dealing with captured foes. Taking them in, even if they bend the knee, is never a sure fire thing." Jaime reminded him.

"You escaped once and were swiftly recaptured. The second time you were let go because of an oath to Lady Catelyn. An oath you actually made steps towards honoring and even managed to do so with the help of Lady Brienne." Jon noted earning a conceding nod from Jaime.

"A fair point. I understand where you're coming from. She could have had them executed for their crimes but I don't think that ever crossed her mind. It was either kneel or die." Jaime offered up his agreement to Jon's position.

"Is that what he was like?" Jon asked with a faraway look.

"Who?" Jaime inquired.

"My grandfather. Aerys Targaryen." Jon responded as his cold wintery gaze turned to Jaime.

"Kneel or die? Yes… that was often how he was. Sometimes it was kneel and die, but that's besides the point. I don't know if she shares in her father's madness. She torched hundreds of my men from dragonback, and it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. She has something her father didn't and that opens the door to making her more dangerous. Even if she isn't as unhinged as he was, all she needs is a short temper, and we'll see repeats of what happened with the Tarly's. I agree we shouldn't just slaughter our prisoners for no real reason, it's better to get them on your side, to convince them to aid you in future battles." Jaime answered with a faraway look, earning a nod from Jon.

"Ah, and there in lies the point of it all. The happy medium." Came the voice of Annatar as he appeared between the two.

"What do you mean?" Jon inquired.

"Killing one's foes for refusal to kneel is nothing new. I've seen it and done it in the past and so have many other conquerors. One day you might be in the same position. Her choice was tactical and wise. She killed a few and convinced the rest to join her. Was it morally sound? Possibly. Killing a few to convince the rest that they needed to bow, well, what was the alternative? Kill them all? Let them go?" Annatar replied, earning a thoughtful look from Jaime and while Jon's face scrunched up as he turned his gaze to the ethereal being.

"Yet I was faced with a similar dilemma with the Bolton men." Jon reminded him.

"And you handled it wonderfully. Ramsey Bolton had personally attacked you, so he suffered a personal punishment. Sansa fed him to his dogs. The Bolton men on the other hand… well you didn't give them a choice, and that is where you and Daenerys differ. When you captured the Bolton men you told them what was going to happen to them, and why, and if they had a problem with that, then they could die. Daenerys gave them a choice. She laid out two options in front of them, kneel or die. While I agree with her direction, her method was wrong. She shouldn't have given them the choice like you did. Because it gave them a way out. When dealing with an enemy that you despise like the Boltons you don't give them a way out. You don't give them the chance to choose their fate. You place them on the path and you force them to walk it. Were your positions switched I would have advised you to take all of those men and place them in your army. If they refused to fight, you could simply have them hung as deserters. At that point, they had committed a second injustice after becoming your prisoners, and thus have proven their disloyalty through it all." Annatar stated earning a very thoughtful look from both men.

"You believe that the fault lies in the choice of the giving of a choice? You think she should have just forced them into her army?" Jon questioned.

"Absolutely. If I were in her position. I would have taken all of those men, garbed them in the armor of my men, bearing my sigil, and flying my flag, and I would have put them on the front lines, between my loyal forces, and the enemy. I would force them to fight their old allies and show them, just how much loyalty means, when you're standing on the opposite side of the field. If they tried to run, they'd be shot down by the men at their backs. If they tried to fight with their old allies, chances are good some men wouldn't get the message and their own allies would run them through. If they survived, then they would have the blood of their allies on their hands, and thus, they could never return to the other side. Their only choice, at that point, would be to fight for me." Annatar explained to Jon.

"That is a very interesting way of handling the situation. Something I think my father would have done, if the idea was ever presented to him." Jaime noted.

"You must never forget Jaehaerys, you are a King. Your will is absolute in the face of the small folk and the high lords alike. When you speak, they must believe that every word, is the rule of life. That your actions dictate their fates. If you can convince the people of that, then they will move heaven and earth, to ensure your success." Annatar emphasized by addressing Jon by his birth name and giving him a pointed look.

Jon looked thoughtful and gazed out across the table. Nothing of interest caught his eye so he was forced to continue gazing while his mind pondered this bit of info.

"What of Daenerys? How do you think I should handle her?" Jon asked.

"If placed on the same field as Daenerys Targaryen, you must not give her a choice, as she would offer you. Your words must be like iron. Unbreakable. Immovable. Domineering. You don't give her options of where to walk. You put her on the path, and force her to walk it. If she does not, then she dies. Life has a funny way of making sure that happens, when you plan accordingly. Remember something Jon, she was given her titles, just as she was given dragon eggs. She has never shed blood with her own two hands. She wields great weapons of war, in the form of her dragons, but she has never taken life. She does not know what it means to swing the sword. She does not know the strength it takes to take life, and maintain your own sanity." Annatar advised, earning a nod of agreement from Jaime.

"Yes. He's right. When you two meet, whether it's in a room, or on the field of battle, you cannot play party to her ambitions. She wishes to be queen. Her claim to it is based off of her position as a Targaryen. A position you hold greater claim to as the son of the crown prince. You cannot let her words dictate your actions. When she speaks, let her words wash past you like a breeze. When you speak, it must be true, like iron shackles falling upon her limbs, forcing her to act in a manner that suits your desires. We cannot afford to fight Daenerys now. You have to convince her that the North is a battle she cannot win. If you can do that. If you can make her afraid, then she'll go back south. She'll keep fighting with my sister, and eventually one of them will kill the other, meanwhile we can focus on the Night King, and deal with the victor." Jaime agreed, taking in all he had learned from ruling from his father, and passing it on to Jon, to ensure that he was capable and ready.

"I thank you both for your wisdom. With any amount of luck, she'll play into our hands and my statement will be as bold as it needs to be. Let's just hope she takes the bait." Jon responded, earning a nod from Jaime and a small smile from Annatar.

 **-Four Days Later-**

"Shit." Tyrion sighed as he reread the letter they had just received from the North.

The rest of Daenerys council sat nearby watching expectantly as Tyrion went over the letter for a fourth time.

Daenerys sat at the end of the table, watching her Hand with displeasure. It was obvious from the hard look of his face that the reply wasn't going to be one that they would find favorable.

"Let me guess." Yara began as she got up, stepped away from the table and began to pour herself a glass of wine. "They said to take our Queen's offer and ram it up our asses?"

Tyrion gave her a look that showed that he wasn't amused with this turn of events. He could feel Dany's eyes boring into him, and finally he let out a sigh and just decided to read the letter aloud to the group, rather then try to explain it's contents.

"To Daenerys Targaryen. The days of the North sacrificing it's own sons and daughters to the South, has come to an end. Old bonds were severed the day the Mad King murdered my Grandfather and Uncle. No more will we bow to a southern ruler. No more will we suffer, forgotten in the North, while the South plays it's games. The North bows to only one King, and that King is the one who holds Stark blood. Step foot in the North, and you will be made to suffer the same fate as the Boltons, and the Freys. We will no longer play party to the ambitions of a southern Queen, or a foreign invader. The North is free, and independent, and no force in all the world can change that. March North, and you will learn what true suffering is. March North, and Fire and Blood, will be met by the Wolves of Winter. So says Jon Snow; The White Wolf, Friend of the Free Folk, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Lord of Winterfell, Lord of the Crossing, King on the Wall, and King in the North." Tyrion read out the letter.

Silence filled the room as he finished. Most people just sat there dumbstruck by the boldness of the letter, meanwhile Theon was sinking into his chair from the moment he heard that Jon was King of the North.

Fury couldn't properly convey the look on Dany's face. She had never wanted for a piece of parchment to suffer before, but this one in particular she was attempting to will into oblivion.

Tyrion let out another sigh as he set the letter on the table and glanced around the room.

"The King in the North's reply is quite telling." Varys hummed.

"Yes, he has more balls then brains and his cock brushes his knees." Yara stated with a smirk, trying her best to remove the tension in the room.

"He gave us quite a bit of new information with his reply." Tyrion stated as he glanced at Varys who offered him a nod of agreement.

"What new information has been offered? Other then that the Northern Lords are just as great of fools as everyone else is seems." Dany hissed out, looking very upset, but also further exhausted by continued setbacks.

"My Queen, your Lord Hand is correct, Jon Snow gave us quite of bit of useful information with his response. Information we can use to our advantage." Varys informed her, earning a look from the Dragon Queen.

"How so?" Dany inquired.

"Well we now know who the King in the North is." Tyrion pointed out.

"Yes, who 'is' this Jon Snow?" Dany demanded as she fixed her Hand with a pointed look.

"He's the bastard son of Ned Stark. Somehow he managed to take Winterfell from the Bolton's, though last I saw him, he was stationed at Castle Black. Then again, given his titles, it would seem the Black Brothers have broken tradition and named someone as their King." Tyrion responded. While Dany took that in, the hard look on Ser Jorah's face was unmistakable.

If Jon Snow was the new Lord-Commander of the Night's Watch, then what did that ultimately mean in regards to his father. What part had Jeor Mormont played in this bastard's rise to power?

"What other useful information were you two able to garner from his refusal?" Yara inquired.

"Well, if we look at his titles, they reveal a lot about him, just as they do for our Queen. 'The White Wolf'. Jon Snow had a White Direwolf in his company. It means he probably still has it. 'Friend of the Freefolk', I'm guessing he means the Wildlings, which means he has them as allies. 'Lord-Commander of the Night's Watch', and 'Lord of Winterfell' are both obvious. He was once named commander on the Wall by his Black Brothers, and he retook Winterfell. 'Lord of the Crossing' is one that confuses me, the Crossing is the Twins, which is held by the Freys. By his own insinuation, that would mean that Jon Snow took the Twins from the Freys, either forcing them to bend the knee or more likely, he slaughtered them like they did his brother. Meaning Jon Snow isn't just King in the North. He's King of everything from the Wall to the Twins." Tyrion mused aloud earning many thoughtful looks from his compatriots.

"He's expanded the size of the North quite considerably. If he is now King on the Wall and Lord of the Crossing, then that would mean the Gift and the New Gift have been returned to the North, and that the North now stretches further south then it ever has before." Varys stated, earning a nod of agreement from Tyrion.

"You two sound as if you admire him." Dany noted, earning a shared look from the two before they turned their attention to her.

"He is, of course, in the wrong for denying you, your Grace. However I was never the biggest fan of the Boltons or the Freys. Hearing that the Starks somehow managed to pull themselves back from the brink of extinction and reclaimed their home, well it's the kind of thing you only hear about in fairy-tales. I admire that. But he's obviously in the wrong for refusing you." Tyrion placated her, earning a distant look from his Queen but she did offer him a small nod of agreement. It truly was interesting to hear that the nearly extinct Starks managed to reclaim what they had once lost. It gave Dany hope that she too could reclaim her lost home.

"The question is, what do we do with this information?" Tyrion asked the table.

"He said no. What else is there?" Yara responded.

"I know that. But our problem remains. We need more men. The North is one of our only options. The only other path we have is Littlefinger, and I'd rather cut my cock off then put Littlefinger within a hundred leagues of our Queen." Tyrion clarified, earning a snort of amusement from Yara and Varys.

"You knew this Jon Snow?" Dany inquired towards Theon when she noticed him still trying to sink into his chair. All eyes quickly turned towards the elder Greyjoy, and his bewildered and somewhat frightened look.

"I did, your grace." Theon responded with a nod.

"Well? What do you have to add? We need to convince this Northern King to rescind his titles and bend the knee. I will not allow someone else to rule over half of Westoros." Dany asked of him.

"Jon… well… Jon is a good man, your grace. Or he was. He was kind to the people around him. Gentle with his youngest sister, even though she was a fiery wolf. He's one of the best swordsmen I've ever seen. All he ever did when we were younger was mope or train in the yards. Sometimes he'd be there from dawn to dusk. He's an honorable man, with a clear view on his position in the world." Theon explained to her everything he could remember about the Black sheep of the Starks.

"He knows his place in the world? Well he must have changed quite a bit if he's calling himself king." Dany responded with a huff.

"That's possible, your grace. But I'm not certain. When Jon was younger he wanted to join the Night's Watch to give his life some meaning. He's a bastard and he knows it. He knew he'd never amount to anything. At best maybe he'd end up a wandering Hedge Knight. But he'd never be known for anything. He'd never have any titles, or lands. He knew he was nothing, and so he sought a place for himself in the world. With the Night's Watch. Despite his naive nature, Jon was always more insightful then anyone else. He's as honorable as Ned Stark, and as great a fighter as the Legendary Ser Arthur Dayne. Those two things, plus whatever he may have learned about leading, make him dangerous your grace." Theon offered, earning a look from Dany.

"How so?" Dany inquired.

"Men will follow a great fighter, who holds his honor above all else. Especially Northern men." Jorah answered for him, earning a nod of agreement from Theon. Dany shook her head and let out a sigh. This was going to be a pain, she just knew it.

"We still need to convince him to side with us. Obviously trying to ask him politely, isn't going to work, so what else is there?" Tyrion asked as he glanced around the room.

"Maybe having your dragons do a flyby of the Twins would remind the little fucker just where you're coming from when you ask nicely." Yara offered, earning a snort of amusement from Dany, whom actually didn't mind the idea. It had worked before.

"The Riverlords have sided with me over Cercei, I could have a force marched up to the Twins as a show of strength. Perhaps that would convince the Northern Lords to see things my way." Daenerys mused, earning looks from her followers.

"It would indeed make a bold statement, and we have some forces in that area. Three thousand Dothraki and one of your dragons would certainly make a statement, though I would strongly advise against taking any action against the twins itself. The castle is heavily fortified, and we have no idea how closely the North has been paying attention to the war. They may have placed weapons there to deal with your dragons." Tyrion offered his agreement, but threw in his own warning, as he had done numerous times before.

"Then that is what I will do. Prepare a message for the North. I want them to know just who they are dealing with. I will not allow some upstart to take half of my kingdom from me. The Seven Kingdoms will remain seven. That is not up for debate." Daenerys commanded her hand, earning a slow nod of acknowledgment.

As the room cleared, Tyrion shared a look with Varys, "Somehow, I don't think this is going to go as planned." Tyrion warned, earning a small nod of agreement from the Master of Whispers.

 **-Eight Days Later-**

Durz, a towering Uruk with long braids of twisted black hair, and dark, purple, blotchy skin, made his way up one of the Twin's towers. He had been named commander of this castle, and by all the stars in the sky he intended to do a good job of leading it. He had played host to the Witch King for a few weeks now, in preparation for something they all knew was coming. The Dark Lord had something in the works, and Durz was proud to play some sort of part in his plans.

By his sides he kept twin medium length blades. Each one was twisted and grotesque, made to tear men to ribbons, rather then slice through them. Covering his body, was thick leather armor, with Drake scale shoulder pads and chest protection. Despite his impressive size at almost seven feet, Durz was more well known for his speed and being light on his feet. He was nimble for an Uruk, but that served him just fine, it meant that his foes underestimated him, and that was one of the reasons he had made it so far in the service of the Dark Lord. That was also what had earned him his nickname, Durz the Swift.

As he made it to the top of the keep, he stepped over to a window to look out of the lands residing below. At this height he could see for miles, and it provided good warning for any incoming forces that may be trying to take the castle for their own.

Scouts had been reporting in the last few days that a large band of horse riders were moving in from the south. They had made their way up from the Riverlands, and were headed straight for them.

Durz stared out over the land for several more moments before turning towards a darkened figure that stood in the center of the room. It was one of the Nine, one of their Lord's chief servants. The Wraith stood motionless, quietly staring out the windows, waiting for the moment, smoke could be seen on the horizon, marking the arrival of the Dothraki horde.

The Uruk Overlod turned his gaze back out onto the horizon. There in the distance, he could just make out a large plume of dust, rising up from the Earth, signifying that the horde of Horsemen were fast approaching.

"Heh. Time to play." Durz hissed out with a feral grin, as he felt more then heard the Wraith pass him and descend down the stairs.

An hour later, and the forces of the twins, stared out at a massive band of Dothraki that had taken up residence, just outside of the range of their archers.

Hoots, hollers, and war chants could be heard from the war band, an obvious sign of fear mongering, but those within the twins weren't moved in the slightest. Where once, men had guarded it's gates, now the Dark Lord's army stood vigilant, and there were three Wraiths stationed there. The Dothraki would need to bring a much greater host if they wished to frighten the four thousand orcs, uruks and Olegs, gathered in the castle.

The defenders stood in silence as they waited. The Dothraki continued their war chants, attempting to goad the defenders into feeling a measure of fear. This carried on for nearly a full five minutes, when suddenly, an ear-splitting roar, tore through the air.

Out of the clouds in the distance, a massive winged beast emerged.

Daenerys Targaryen eyed the twins with a calculating gaze as she rushed forward on the back of Drogon, the largest of her three dragons. The two castles, set cozily on either side of the river were like a barrier, representing the edge of her conquest. Beyond these castles, lay the lands controlled by the upstart, Jon Snow. She would show this would-be king what true might was. She'd put fear into the hearts of his men, and then she would see if he would act so brazen as to insult her claim to the Seven Kingdoms of Westoros.

She made sure to measure with her eyes, a reasonable distance from the closest castle, she had no intention of getting close enough for their archers to possibly get a shot out at her.

Drogon let out an unearthly growl, eager to unleash a breath of flames onto his mother's enemy. Dany was keen on the idea, but knew she needed them to submit, burning the two castles down, would only stoke the Northmen's ire, and she didn't have the forces for a campaign in the North. A quick flyby and a show of her Dragon's power would be enough to make her response to the Northern King known.

It was just as she was approaching the imaginary ring she had placed around the castle, to keep her distance, when a deafening screech tore through the air, and her blood ran cold almost instantly.

Dany's eyes shot wide as a shadow fell over her. Her eyes shot upwards as three massive black figures, fell out of the sky, seizing upon Drogon, earning a cry of rage and pain from the dragon.

Dany could only barely hold on as Drogon tossed and turned, and tried to keep himself flying, but whatever was attacking him, was pushing him down to the ground, and tearing into his flesh with massive talons.

Daenerys felt hot liquid splash against her face and she knew that one of these unknown terrors had drawn blood from her precious dragon.

As the three creatures lashed and clawed at Drogon, they pushed him down while also holding him afloat, almost like they were half carrying him. Before Dany even realized what was happening, she felt freezing cold water, erupt around her, and she knew, they had driven her and Drogon into the river.

Shock was the first thing she experienced. Never before had the Dragon Queen experienced cold like this. She could barely control her limbs as she flailed and struggled to stay afloat. By the grace of the gods, she had slipped off of Drogon in a shallow part of the river, her feet barely touching the mucky underground, and she was quickly able to identify land.

Using all of her strength, she pulled herself towards the dry land, her body shaking with an unbearable tremble.

Behind her, she could hear godawful shrieks and snarls. A quick glance over the shoulder revealed the three shadows thrashing Drogon. They kept him pinned in the water, not necessarily deep enough to drown him, but enough to keep him from flying, and from directing his fire breath at his assailants.

Daenerys' heart clenched in pain as she heard the strangled cries of her child. It was obvious that if these creatures wanted too, they could force him beneath the waves, and drown the mighty beast. Her eyes could barely focus on the three winged creatures that pinned her child to the water. They almost looked like dragons, but they weren't, they were something else.

With no time to dwell on it though, Daenerys made her way onto shore, cursing the heavy wool outfit she had chosen for this ride to protect her from the frigid skies, and the settled winter.

It was as she pulled herself onto shore that she heard another wretched shriek that made her blood go even colder then it already was. She spun around, and her eyes focused on some sort of hooded figures riding upon the back of these assaulting beasts. Before she could really get a good look at them all three lifted themselves into the air, and flew over her, heading inland, away from the river. What their goal was, Dany couldn't tell from her place on the bank of the river.

Slowly, and with a moan of displeasure, Drogon pulled himself out of the water, near where Dany was. The dragon sported large lacerations on it's body, none of them looked fatal, but it was the most injured she had ever seen one of her children. Drogon looked enraged, though at the same time, he also looked meek, like a child who had just been beaten by a larger child.

The mighty dragon collapsed on the bank next to her, once he had fully emerged from the river.

Dany was quick to struggle her way over to him, freezing and heavily waterlogged, the Dragon Queen was intent on both checking her child and getting close to him, so that she may embrace in the warmth of his internal fire.

She was quick to place herself against the dragon's side, feeling the heavy warmth that billowed out of him, despite just emerging from a freezing river.

In the distance, she heard cries and hollers, and those same shrieks of rage. An answer as to what that was, did not immediately present itself to her. So she simply held close to Drogon trying in vein to warm herself, but the cold it seemed had seeped into her bones.

The cries grew louder, yet at the same time more distant, and it was then that Dany remembered she hadn't come here alone. With a sudden burst of strength she tore herself away from Drogon and trudged up the hill, that made up the bank of the river. She had just crest it when her eyes fell on a horrifying sight. In the distance, the horde of Dothraki she had sent here to terrify the defenders of the Crossing, were now being dive bombed by those three dragon-like creatures.

She watched in terror as the creatures plowed through ranks of horsemen who seemed to have already routed. They were fleeing in terror, away from the Twins as the creatures swooped down and slammed through their ranks, picking up a half-dozen men and horses in a single run, and plowing over dozens more. Those horrifying shrieks continued to tear through the air, and it was obvious that her men were unable to muster without proper leadership.

Watching their queen fall from the sky, and then being set upon by what could only be dragons must have broken their spirit.

Some halfheartedly tried to fire arrows from horseback, but the Dothraki skill with a horse, ended with firing arrows at flying targets. Yes they could fire from horseback, but that was against a target on the ground. Not something in the air.

In a moment of clarity, Daenerys realized that she had walked right into a trap. Over the hills in the distance, she watched as a large band of shadows rode over the snowy, grassy fields and raced towards her fleeing men. Out of the castle, another band of soldiers began to emerge.

Dany blinked a few times as she felt her vision fade, she then was able to steady herself, and prevent a fall. With a sudden loud thump, something landed to her right. She heard Drogon hiss out at whatever it was but a deep baritone voice, responded. The voice shocked Dany as it sounded nothing like a human voice, and the words it spoke, were unlike any language she had ever heard.

She turned, her body wracking with shivers, as the cold seeped all the way down to her vary soul. She found herself staring into blood red eyes. Something, that almost looked like a dragon in her blurred vision, was standing next to her. Foul, boiling hot breath, brushed her face, and she almost welcomed it, as a source of warmth.

She heard Drogon shriek again, and again, the deep voice seemed to emanate from the creature in front of her.

It was in that moment that the cold over took Dany's body, and she fell to the ground, unable to maintain herself, in the frigid cold, soaking wet, and heavily waterlogged.

While her eyes stayed open, and her body trembled painfully, Dany could barely move at all. She felt more then saw someone hop off the back of the creature with the red eyes. They made their way over to her, kneeling down next to her. Dany was unable to even turn her head to look up at them she was shaking so bad. She felt warm hands slide under her and she was lifted up.

Again she heard Drogon shriek out a warning, and this time she caught a glimpse of the smaller creature stepping up next to the much larger Drogon, and if she hadn't been freezing to death, she would have been amazed as the smaller creature revealed itself to be the one speaking. It's words were foreign to Dany, they sounded like nothing she had ever heard before. Drogon seemed to understand though. As he kept turning to stare at her. Finally he let out a gruff roar and with a flap of his wings, the dark dragon pulled itself into the air.

Dany wanted to cry out to him, wanted to beg her child not to leave her there, but it seems whatever the smaller creature had said, Drogon understood it, and had chosen to leave.

She heard a growl erupt from nearby as something road up next to them.

"Get her to the castle, and keep her warm. If she dies, I'll have you all hung!" She heard the man holding her, command.

"I'll see to her safety personally my King!" A gruff, growling voice replied.

She felt herself being passed into someone else arms, and she was sat on the back of some sort of beast. What it was she wasn't sure, but it looked nothing like a horse.

She then felt someone mount the beast behind her, and wrap a strong arm around her to keep her from falling off. With a command the beast took off. Through her strained vision Dany could just barely make out the twins rapidly coming into view as the rider carried her all the way there.

Time seemed to stretch out into an eternity as she was brought into the castle. As soon they passed through the main gates, she heard a flurry of orders shouted by her riding partner. He got off and pulled her off as well, carrying her bridal style into the castle itself. A flurry of faces passed by her, some distorted and twisted, which could have only been a result of her shattered state.

The warmth of the castle seemed to do nothing to warm her. The cold still seeped into her bones, and it held there with a terrible fury. She was moved quickly into the castle, taken to a room with a roaring fire. She was sat in front of it, and a few seconds later, she felt hands on her person, before she even realized what was happening, a knife was cutting away her soaked clothes.

Before she could even muster the strength to utter something in defiance, she was stripped bare, her body left completely naked. She felt cloth run along her skin, drying as much of the frigid water as could be managed. Whoever was wiping her down was very thorough, and all Daenerys could do was shiver, her eyes locked on the roaring flame that seemed to call for her.

As soon as the water was dried off of her, she felt heavy cloth fall over her body. Those around her pulled her closer to the fire and draped her in as many heavy blankets as they could while also getting her as close to the fire as possible without setting her blankets aflame.

Dany kept like that for several very long agonizing minutes. She was basically encased in blankets, staring into a flame. A few moments later and someone stepped up next to her, gently pulling some of the blankets around her face aside. Dany turned her gaze towards this person, finding a woman, the first one she had seen, or at least been able to focus on since being brought here.

"Here." The woman stated, extending a spoon with some unknown liquid on it. Dany could see steam rising from it, so despite her confusion and distrust she opened her mouth and allowed the warm broth to be place in her mouth.

This woman remained by Daenerys' side as she continued to feed her what Dany now knew was soup. It wasn't the best tasting, but in her current state, it could have been horse dung and she probably would have eaten it, just to help warm her insides.

Daenerys felt her insides slowly warm up as she took down the soup. She mostly kept her eyes on the fire, halfheartedly wondering if maybe she should just forgo the blankets and jump into the flames to warm up. Deciding against it for fear of not knowing exactly what such a thing would do to her body, she decided to just draw in as much heat as she could.

A few minutes later and she managed to finish off the bowl of soup.

"Th-than… Thank..." Daenerys tried to mutter out a thanks to the kind woman, but she was still shivering far too severely to form a coherent statement.

"You're very welcome your grace." The woman replied as she re-positioned some of the blankets so that they were fully covering Dany again, leaving only her eyes to peek out from underneath them.

Daenerys was then left alone for a few moments wondering to herself why they were trying to help her. Sure they may not have wanted to incite the wrath of her full forces, but in the same breath, if they killed her the Dothraki would disband or find a new leader, her Dragon's would probably fly off and nest somewhere, and well, the others would probably retreat to Meereen.

So why go through all of this trouble to keep her alive?

An answer didn't immediately appear, and she was so focused on trying to warm herself up that she didn't even notice when the woman who had fed her returned.

Dany could only let out a whine as she was lifted up off the ground and the blankets were pulled away from her.

"I know you're cold your grace we just need to get you into warm clothes and then you can go back under the blankets." The woman stated as two figures appeared on either side of Dany and helped the woman quickly dress her. She felt them slide long wool undergarments over her legs and then quickly cover them in thick trousers. It was as they were covering her with shirts and heavier clothes that her eyes drifted over to the doorway. On either side of it stood two towering figures. Twisted faces with blotchy skin stared back at her, some with glowing eyes. Standing before the door though was a figure that drew her attention.

It was a man. He had dark hair and a piercing wintry gaze. His arms were folded across his chest and despite not being the tallest man she had ever seen, he held himself above those around him. The large fur cloak he wore also made him appear much bigger then he really was.

His gaze was locked on her face. Despite the state she had been in mere moments earlier, he looked like he was focusing entirely on her facial features, almost like he was searching for something.

Her sight-line of the man was broken when someone plopped wool cap on her head, and she was set down in front of the fire again, and a re-covered with blankets.

She spent the better part of an hour, gazing into the fire, warming herself back up, all the while wondering how she could have allowed herself to fall for this trap.

She tried to reason in her own mind that there was no way she could have known that the North had access to beasts of the sky, just like she did. But in the end, she couldn't escape the idea that it was pride that led her here. Had she not been so adamant about showing the North just who they were dealing with, had she taken a more tempered response, she wouldn't have gotten all of those men killed, and she wouldn't be in this situation now, a prisoner of her enemies.

Time passed by and Daenerys felt herself wondering what her fate would be. Would she be executed before the northern lords in a display of power? Would she be held prisoner for the remainder of her days? Would she be sold off, once again, to be the plaything of some Northern Lord or even this King in the North? An answer didn't present itself, and before she even realized it was happening, the Dragon Queen had slipped into a quiet slumber.

Her dreams were barren of everything except that strange man. The simple man, with the piercing gaze. Something about him spoke of a greatness, but for the life of her, Daenerys couldn't pinpoint it, even in her dreams.

She awoke to the sound of a dragon's roar, her eyes shooting open. She found herself staring up at the ceiling, and laying in a bed. How she had gotten there, she was unsure, but the sun looked to be rising. Seeing as how it was midday when she was captured, that meant that she had slept for the better part of a full day.

She rose to her feet and quickly crossed the room. Her body ached, but it was no longer shaking as it once had. A small part of her wondered just what effect her dragon's blood would have on hypothermia. Would she recover quicker then a normal person? Or perhaps it would have no effect at all? Dany didn't know. All she did know was that she recognized that roar. It was Drogon.

She made it to a nearby window and her eyes quickly scanned the skies. She immediately spotted her largest child flying near the castle. He seemed to be flying towards it, only to brake off before getting too close and fly back towards a nearby forest.

A part of her was very happy that he was alive and looked to be recovering from his injuries, though another part of her recalled the dragon like creature she had seen speak with him, and she couldn't help but wonder just what it had said to convince Drogon to leave her behind.

"Your dragon is quite loud." A voice came from behind her, startling the Dragon Queen.

She spun around to find the same man she had seen last night standing at the doorway.

She stared back at him for several long moments before replying. "He gets like that when his mother is in danger."

"You're not in danger. He knows that, he's just being temperamental." The man replied as he gazed around the room. Dany narrowed her eyes at the northerner, who spoke with a similar accent to Jorah.

"I saw you yesterday. You rode on the back of that small Dragon." Dany noted. The man didn't say anything, he simply returned his gaze to meet hers. He stared back, unflinchingly, even as she tried piercing him with her best questioning gaze.

"Are you the King in the North?" Daenerys asked after a moment of silence.

The man stared back and again he didn't answer.

Instead he turned slightly and into the room walked several armed men. It only took a moment for Daenerys to realize they weren't men. Twisted dark skin, some having sickly yellow. Each one standing almost as tall as the man. Faces filled with long gnarled teeth and most of them sported sickly green or yellow eyes.

"These will see you to the main hall. There you'll be fed and provided with supplies for you and your men. I want you out of my land by midday. If you step foot in the North again, I wont spare you." The man informed her. His eyes cold and carrying a degree of harshness to them. The way he held himself, and refused to answer any of her questions. It was obvious to Dany what was going on here. He was making sure she realized that he wasn't going to treat her as a queen or even as an equal. She was a foe. Deserving of neither his respect nor his time.

She was an annoyance to him, and he wanted her gone. He could just kill her, the answer as to why he didn't, eluded her.

"You're letting me go? Just like that?" Daenerys asked again, hoping he would at least give her something more to go on.

"Yes. I'm letting you go." He answered.

"Why?" Daenerys demanded to know. The way his servants shifted and barred their teeth at her was an obvious sign that they weren't happy with her questioning their master.

"Because… you're going to kill Cercei Lannister for me. That's all. No greater reason. You're a headache, she's a cancer. I'd rather deal with the headache. So go, Dragon Queen. Take what remains of your men, take your dragon, return to your lands, and keep fighting with Cercei Lannister. Kill her. Take the Iron Throne. And leave me, and the North alone. You come back, and I'll kill you, I'll kill your men, and I'll take your dragons and use them to set fire to every kingdom that has a problem with the North's independence." The now revealed King in the North responded before turning and marching out of the room.

Daenerys stared after him, the boldness of his statement and the intent behind it, shaking her to her core. As his threat was delivered, she could have almost swore his eyes flashed with golden flames, and it almost looked like there was someone standing behind him in the shadows of the doorway. A man in white wearing a cruel smile.

He was gone too quickly though, and before she had time to really ponder what had happened she was being forced down the hallway by the deformed creatures in service to the Dark Lord. They passed by another window and Daenerys was given a good look out at the area near the castle. Several hundred men and horses were clustered nearby. All that remained of the force she had brought with her. What had once been three thousand, was now reduced to five hundred or so.

Knowing that some of her men yet lived and knowing that she needed to make it out of here before the Northern King changed his mind, Daenerys straightened her back and stood with all the confidence a queen could muster.

Soon she would be free to return to her allies and friends and tell them what had happened. She needed their advice. She needed a new plan. The North could not be taken by force if they had found new allies in these creatures. And if they could fight her dragon's in the skies. She needed a new plan.

What the Dragon Queen didn't know, what she wouldn't until her return to Dragonstone was that at that very moment, letters were arriving to every major house in Westoros. These letters contained a proclamation that would forever change the political dynamic of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon's time as the bastard King was coming to an end. Soon the whole world would know him by his birth name. Jaehaerys Targaryen.

 **-To Be Continued-**

 _ **Alright there you go. Let me know what you guys think. We'll see Dany's reaction in the upcoming chapter, and as you can see Sauron is slowly turning Jon into a more ruthless and cunning leader. His will is becoming an absolute, something that cannot be questioned or rivaled. Slowly but surely, the Dark Lord's plan is coming together.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Alright here's the next chapter. Hope all of you enjoy it. Someone pointed out how Daenerys was thrown from Drogon's back and how that would mean the Dothraki would see her as weak. I agree to an extent though I would like to remind everyone that in the actual tv show, Drogon is shot out of the sky and forced to land. The Dothraki didn't seem bothered by that at all. And in the same breath, I pointed out in the last chapter how Dany was tossed off of Drogon at a low point in the river, below sight-line of the field the Dothraki had gathered on, so none of them could really see her from that distance and angel, so most probably don't know she was thrown from the dragon, only that she was captured. At worse the Dothraki that were with her will cut their braids as a sign of defeat, but considering how they were almost immediately attacked by the Nazgul and the forces at the twins, I don't think any of them really know what happened to Dany after Drogon was brought to the ground. All they know is that she returned to them, alive and healthy, and with resources to take them back to their territory so who knows what they're all thinking.**_

 _ **Rise of the Dark Lord**_

 _ **Chapter 5: The Dragon Rises.**_

Tyrion stood starring out over the vast ocean. It had been several days since anyone had seen or heard from the Queen and he was worried. The Queen's dragons weren't acting up and he truly believed that if something had happened to her, they would have known.

Dragons were strange like that, he was coming to learn. It was early in the morning and he'd been out her for nearly an hour when suddenly a sound pierced the air. A very familiar shriek that stirred the Queen's dragons from their slumber.

Tyrion felt his heart settle, and his fears subside when the blackened form of Drogon passed over the island and slowly circled as he prepared to land. Tyrion could just make out the form of Daenerys on the Dragon's back and he quickly made his way over to where it looked like she was landing. As he got closer he began to notice the red marks on Drogon's body. Injuries that were still healing. Tyrion had no idea where the dragon could have gotten those injuries but to his eyes it looked like he'd been attacked by a giant hawk, if the curved shape of the cuts was anything to go by.

It was obvious that Drogon was not in the best of moods as he let out a loud grumble of what seemed to be annoyance as he landed. It was apparent that his injuries were still bothering him despite being in the process of healing.

Tyrion was quick to approach as Daenerys dismounted and made her way towards him.

Despite the hard look on her face, Tyrion couldn't help but notice that she wasn't wearing the same outfit she had left in. Before he could even welcome her back, she spoke.

"Gather the council. I need to speak with all of you." Daenerys commanded as she quickly turned and made for the castle.

Tyrion stared after her for several long moment before following after her. He could only wonder if she had possibly heard the news of the letter they had received from the North.

Several minutes later and Dany's council had gather. Most were overjoyed to see her back, but despite their happiness to see her, it was obvious that the Dragon Queen was not in the mood for pleasantries.

"It is good to have you back, My Queen." Missandei offered as they all settled into their chairs.

"Yes, we were beginning to worry that something had happened. It's obvious that something 'did' happen, if your change of attire is anything to go by." Tyrion decided to get to the point and bring up the elephant in the room.

"It was a trap." Daenerys informed them.

"A Trap?" Tyrion replied as he shared a look with Varys.

"How was it a trap, your grace?" Missandei inquired.

"This Jon Snow has a dragon. He was waiting for me at the twins. He also had several other winged beasts with riders of their own. They pulled Drogon and I out of the sky and slammed us into the river. They could have drown Drogon and killed me if they wanted too. Once they had sufficiently cowed my dragon the three winged beasts attacked the Dothraki I had brought with me. Most of them were killed." Daenerys informed them, earning surprise from all of them, and a curse from Tyrion.

"How did you survive, my Queen?" Jorah asked.

"The King in the North arrived on the shores of the river riding on the back of a dragon. I've never seen a dragon like the one in his possession and unless I was mistaken, I believe the beast could speak. It… said something to Drogon, convinced him to leave, go somewhere and recuperate. It must have been quite convincing because Drogon did as he was told and left. I was then taken into custody by the King in the North and his forces at the Twins. He could have imprisoned me, or left me for dead. I had fallen into the river, my clothes were soaked with the freezing waters. I've never felt cold like that before. I would have surely died, had he not taken me to the Twins and had me nursed back to health." Daenerys explained, earning ever more surprise from many of her followers.

"Why go through the trouble of attacking you, only to try and save you mere moments later?" Missandei inquired.

"Probably got a good look at her frame under those soaked robes and decided she was worth giving a second chance too." Yara noted with a dry chuckle, earning an unamused look from Daenerys.

"He wants me to kill Cercei for him. That's all. That's why he spared me. He told me so himself." Daenerys offered up.

"You spoke with him?" Tyrion inquired, sharing a quick glance with Varys as he did.

"He spoke. He offered me only the briefest of explanations before demanding my departure. He had these people with him. They were unlike any sort of people I had ever seen before. Their skin was blotchy and discolored, they had twisted faces and some even had glowing green or yellow eyes. As I departed the castle I saw massive war beasts as part of his army. Giants, and large cat-like creatures as big as horses that they used as mounted infantry. Just from the looks of things at the twins, I'd say the North is fully prepared for war." Daenerys informed them earning looks of concern from her followers.

"He offered you nothing else?" Varys asked.

"No. Why?" Daenerys responded.

"A letter arrived a few days ago. Right around the time you would have been in the North's custody. Similar letters arrived to every keep in the south." Tyrion answered as he fished out a letter he'd been keeping private. Only he and Varys knew of it's contents. He quickly moved around the table and offered it to Daenerys.

"What does the letter say?" Daenerys asked as she took it from her hand.

"I believe it offers us insight into why the King in the North has a dragon." Tyrion answered, earning curious looks from Dany's followers and a very focused look from Dany herself.

She quickly opened the letter, and read it's contents.

Silence filled the room for several long moments as the Dragon Queen read the letter from the North. She then read it again, and then again for a third time. A few long seconds passed as she set the letter on the table, her eyes wide and her teeth clicking together nervously. She turned her gaze to Tyrion whom offered her a nod, to say he agreed with her confusion and surprise.

Dany was quick to rise to her feet and step over to the nearby balcony that overlooked a cove below them. She was silent for several long moments as she stared out over the sea.

"Is it true?" Daenerys finally asked, her voice barely audible.

"I don't know. I took the liberty of sending a raven to Old Town to ask the maesters there for confirmation. We'll know when we receive a reply. Unfortunately I think there's going to be a lot of people doing the same thing so it may take a while." Tyrion responded.

"What does the letter say, your Grace?" Ser Jorah inquired.

"Jon Snow is apparently the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, or so he claims." Tyrion answered when it didn't look like Dany would.

Surprise was felt throughout the entire room, and if possible, Theon paled to an almost ghostly white as he remembered all the times he had treated Jon terribly during their childhoods for being a bastard.

"He also claims that the two were married. The records of which, reside in Old Town. If that is true and Jon Snow is indeed the child of Rhaegar Targaryen… well..." Varys offered but came to a halt, though Yara was kind enough to finish his statement.

"That would mean that the Bastard isn't a bastard. He's the crown prince of the Targaryen line." Yara responded as she folded her arms across her chest and let out a sigh.

"He has a dragon. That will be enough proof for most people." Tyrion noted, earning the smallest of nods from Daenerys.

The entirety of her trip back, Daenerys had been thinking about Jon Snow and all that he had revealed during their brief interaction. She remembered how his eyes had been locked on her face, despite her being nude at the time, while she was being put into warm clothes. The way he stared at her intently, it now made sense. He was meeting his aunt for the first time. An aunt who had threatened him and his people. To imagine what must have been going through his head at the time.

Daenerys was torn. A part of her refused to believe it. What proof was there? What proof did the bastard have of being her brother's child? But another part of her hoped beyond hope that he was telling the truth. That would mean she had family out there. That she wasn't the last Dragon. He had a dragon of his own. Surely that meant something? These two sides warred within her, but a third, more treacherous side kept butting in, reminding her that if it was true and he was her kin, then she had openly threatened him, denounced his claim to Northern rule and even went so far as to attempt to provoke him with her little stunt. Despite it being a trap, it was a trap born of her hostile aggressiveness.

The thought made her sick to her stomach. What if it was true and he now hated her? What if he wanted nothing at all to do with her? What if any chance of her being reunited with the last living member of her family had been squashed by her own bullheadedness? These thoughts filled her mind and shifted her hope that it wasn't true. He had to be lying. There had to be another explanation. Because otherwise, she had initiated hostilities with her older brother's child. She could barely stand the idea of that being the case.

It took several moments but Daenerys realized that Tyrion was asking her something. She glanced down at him and realized that he was pressing her for some form of direction. They needed to way to go from here.

"We'll wait for the reply from the Citadel. Once we know if my brother really was married to Lyanna Stark, we'll move from there." Daenerys stated, almost in a complete monotone.

"And if he was?" Yara inquired when no one else would.

"Then we will ask for a meeting with the King in the North. To discuss… things." Dany replied as she turned and started to walk out of the room, Tyrion following close behind her.

"We need to talk about this." He stated quickly, trying to keep pace with her.

"I don't know what there is to talk about." Daenerys responded.

"What will you do if this turns out to be true? If he really is your brother's son that would mean-" Tyrion began but Dany stopped and cut him off, nearly shouting at him as she did.

"That he is the crown prince! I know! If this is true, then he holds greater claim to the throne, I am well aware of that!" Dany snapped at him before continuing forward.

"And we need to discuss how we will handle this. Many of the Southern houses hate Cercei but refuse to follow you because they see you as a foreign invader. If they see the opportunity to follow not only a trueborn son of the Targaryen line, but the Son of Rhaegar Targaryen himself, they will flock behind him. The North has shown no qualms about expanding their borders." Tyrion pressed causing Dany to stop and face him, her face beginning to heat up with pent up emotion. It was obvious she was going through about a thousand different emotions right now, and all she wanted to do was escape to her room and hide away from it all, but Tyrion knew they didn't have time to wait. Everything they were working towards could come crashing down at any moment if this turned out to be true.

"If the maesters reveal that my brother did marry Lyanna Stark, then we will contact the King in the North, Jon Snow, Jaehaerys Targaryen, and we will open a dialogue with him. Convince him to meet with us on neutral ground. If he is a Targaryen, then I will not demand that he bends the knee or relinquishes the North. We will find a way to work together. He despises Cercei and may even be willing to help us in exchange for concessions." Daenerys replied quickly, stringing together her thoughts and expressing them almost as soon as they came to mind.

"And what if he demands the throne?" Tyrion asked.

"He wont. He doesn't want it. He could have held onto me, if he wanted it. Revealed the truth and gained the allegiance of all of the houses supporting me. He could have held me as a prisoner, but he didn't. He wants the North. He wants his home. He said so himself. He said I could have the throne so long as I killed Cercei." Daenerys informed him, earning a curious look from Tyrion.

"Then why send these letters out? This attempt will surely weaken your claim." Tyrion noted.

"He doesn't care about my claim. It doesn't matter to him if it weakens my position or not. The truth is revealed and that strengthens him and weakens Cercei. You said it yourself, many houses that sided with Cercei only did so because they think me some sort of invader. Those houses may now have someone new to turn too. If even a few of them stand down and refuse to fight for Cercei any longer, then that weakens her and gives us a greater opportunity to win." Daenerys expressed, earning a slow nod from Tyrion as he pondered her logic.

"How sure of this are you?" Tyrion inquired.

"As sure as I can be." Daenerys replied.

"Why? You were so openly willing to threaten him only a few short days ago. Why the change? I understand what happened but surely there must be something more for you to put this much faith into his words?" Tyrion pressed with a curious look.

"When I was freezing to death, when I had just collapsed, he arrived there. I heard him speak to one of his soldiers. There was something in his voice, it was commanding, and focused, but there was care in it too. The way he stared at me, trying to look into my eyes as I was being dressed. He didn't care about the state of my body, I don't think he even noticed that I was stripped bare. He just looked at my face, as if he was trying to memorize it. He knew… he's known for a while, what he was. Who I was to him. Despite his anger at me. He wanted to see me. To look upon the face of his blood. The only other person with dragon blood in the entire world. I know that loneliness. He may be half Stark, but he's half Dragon as well. I know what it's like to carry the weight of the Targaryen bloodline on your shoulders." Daenerys responded, facing Tyrion as she did and offering him her thoughts.

"You want this to be true." Tyrion noted.

"I don't know how I feel about his claim to the Iron Throne… I don't know about any of that. All I do know is that for the longest time, I was the last of my kind. And I am unable to have children. My dragons would have been alone when I died. They would be the last vestige of the Targaryen line, and without a Targaryen to bond with… they'd become feral and would probably be hunted down and killed in a few years. If this is true… if he is my Brother's son, then I am not alone. He can continue the Targaryen line after I die. His children can inherit my dragons. My children will be able to find people to bond with. This… opens the door to a future I never thought I'd have. So yes… a part of me does hope it's true." Dany explained earning a sympathetic nod from her Hand, who knew very well that she suffered with her loneliness, and with her inability to continue her family line.

"If this turns out to be true… if we can convince him to speak with us, to meet with us on neutral ground… would you push for an alliance?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes. I would. If it's true, then that means we could answer the question to my succession." Daenerys offered up earning a nod from Tyrion.

"If we could foster decent relations with the North then perhaps one of his children could be fostered by their Great-Aunt. Maybe you could even convince him to unite the Seven Kingdoms once again after you and he pass." Tyrion agreed earning a hopeful nod from Daenerys.

"The question is… how do we prove that this isn't fake. The Dragon is a good start, and most people will buy it. But we're talking about the future of the Seven Kingdoms here. If this is the path you wish to pursue I will be there to help you, but I strongly advise that we approach this with extreme caution. We need to be certain that this isn't a ruse of some sort." Tyrion continued after a moment of silence.

"If we can convince him to meet with us, then I know how he can prove it with absolute certainty. If he is truly a dragon, then fire will not harm him. That will convince me, beyond any shadow of doubt. You've seen my immunity to fire, I assume you will be satisfied with that as well?" Daenerys responded.

"I will. If you can convince him to prove to us the validity of his claim." Tyrion responded, earning a small smile and a nod from Daenerys.

 **-Back in Winterfel at around the same time-**

Jon arrived back to his home to find Northern Lords slowly pouring in. It was quite obvious that many of them had received his letters and now they were arriving to demand confirmation from him themselves. Most people had probably guessed that he had Targaryen blood or perhaps some magic that gave him control over a dragon but none had probably anticipated that he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

Jon quickly made his way through the castle, winding his way towards the main hall. He arrived just in time to hear several lords already in discussion with his Queens.

"As I told you Lord Manderly, we will have this talk once the King and the remainder of the arriving Lords are present." Sansa responded with authority. She sat at the high table staring down at all the lords of the North. Sitting next to her on one side was Rickon and further past him was Bran. On her opposite side sat Ser Davos. Between Sansa and Rickon, Lady Brienne stood towering behind the two, her poise perfect and her eyes scanning the room for anything that could possibly be a threat. Standing behind and between Ser Davos and Sansa was Arya, whom stared down at the crowd of Lords with cold, uncaring eyes.

On either side of the table stood two members of Jon's Kingsguard. One an Uruk from the Machine Tribe, draped in heavy metal armor, and armed with a large tower shield and a short crooked spear. His name was Maz, though he was often called by his earned title of Maz the Immovable, for being such a large and cumbersome Uruk who looked nearly indestructible in full plate armor. He had served as one of Jon's personal guards for nearly a year. Despite being quite fearsome in appearance the Uruk was actually a joker, he liked to make quips and would often tease those around him. He enjoyed getting a rise out of people and wouldn't hesitate to make a fine barb, even to the Lords of the North. Arya greatly appreciated the Uruk's presence as he gave off a serious aura but was quite the opposite if you got past it. Maz was scary and intimidating, but was often the first to hit the ale or the grog as soon as he was relieved of duty. When he wasn't guarding Jon or his family, he was singing and drinking with his men, swapping war stories and funny tales.

An orc named Vein stood on the opposite side of the table, he was a lithe orc, as tall as Arya and armed with a collection of twisted heavily barbed javelins. His skin was dark yellow and heavily marked with tattoos. He came from the Mystic tribe and specialized in traps and deception. Despite his small frame, he was quite strong, though he used his petite-ness to his advantage and was thus a much greater threat then he appeared. His eyes were two different colors with one being an icy blue almost similar to a Wight's eyes, and the other a solid green. His face was narrow and his lips constantly pulled back in a ravenous grin that revealed rows of pointy teeth. Besides the throwing spears, he kept a large knife strapped to his side to use in melee. This Orc was actually a close companion of Arya's, the two had met a while back and had started training together. Arya taught him some tricks with the knife and he showed Arya some special skills with smoke bombs or flash pellets. Both became fast friends as they both greatly enjoyed violence. Vein was a lot like Tormund, unusually chipper, despite coming from a very hard life. Many scars etched across Vein's body, yet despite the number, he wore each one like badge of honor. He was dressed just enough to stay warm but he refused to wear armor, instead sticking to light leather padding to serve as protection.

Both Orcs stood as members of the Kingsguard, and would often protect Jon and his family whenever guests were in the castle. Though they were both very different in terms of style, one thing they both shared was a command in Jon's Army. Both were classified as War-chiefs, and commanded four thousand Orcs apiece. They were also both skilled Caragor riders, and their beasts could often be seen sleeping near the high table, more often then not, sleeping close by fellow members of their 'pack' which was led by Nymeria whom was now so big she stood eye to eye with Jon.

It looked like she had finally stopped growing but she had definitely topped off at much larger then other beasts. Ghost himself was now around the size Nymeria had been when she had arrived at the Castle nearly a year ago.

There were three more members of Jon's Kingsguard, one was a very skilled Wildling by the name of Walrund. He stood almost as tall as Brienne and was armed with a large war ax. His hair was jet black, as were his eyes, and he wore a long beard tied into two braids. The man was quite intense looking and rarely spoke. While he was fully capable of speech and had often spoken with Jon many times, he rarely said anything to people who weren't friends or family. Walrund often sat at the top of the steps leading up to the platform where the Royal family were gathered, his ax draped across his lap, his eyes often scanning the crowd. Out of all of Jon's protectors, Walrund was the most serious. He also had a personal reason for seeing to the Stark's protection as his eldest daughter had found her way into the company of Rickon and it looked like the two were developing a very close friendship. Because of this, and the Wildling tendency to take what they wanted, Jon and Walrund both surmised that eventually Walrund's daughter would try to steal Rickon. Both men found it amusing but it was Walrund who declared that if his daughter chose to bed a Stark man, and mother him children, then that would make them family, and Walrund would protect every member of his family, to his dying breath.

Jon respected his devotion, knowing that it probably stemmed from great loss in the past, so he offered the man a place in his guard, usually having him guard Rickon so that he could keep an eye on his daughter also.

Of the remaining two, one sat in the shadows in the back corner of the room opposite the back entry-way, while the other stood by the main entrance to the Great Hall.

The one tucked into the corner was Malic the Bard. A large Uruk armed with a specially modified Lute. This lute could be used to play some very interesting tunes or it could double as a spiked club. Malic was a singer and poet at heart despite being a large burly Uruk. He wore a feathered cap and light armor which mostly consisted of leather padding and metal braces. He held a charming personality and was one of the most articulate Uruks in the Dark Lord's Army. Despite his singing nature, he was also one of the best fighters being fully capable of beating almost any Oleg in a one on one duel. Aside from his special lute, he was armed with a short sword and two long daggers, which he could use if need be. Malic was very good at what he did, and what he did was kill people before they even realized they were in danger. The large, lumbering, loud, boisterous Uruk was actually a brutal assassin. He'd sing songs or tell poems to lull his target either into a false sense of security or into a state of confusion, then when he saw an opening he'd toss a knife into their throat or club their brains out with his lute. It made him a brutal opponent and most people didn't even realize that he was a member of Jon's Kingsguard.

The remaining member of the Kingsguard was an Oleg by the name of Ara-Durz. Like all Olegs he stood towering and confident. He was armed with twin spiked maces and was covered head to toe in heavy plate armor. Four metal spikes rose out of his back, and on the tips of each one was a bleached white skull. Ara-Durz had earned an infamous reputation for his tendency to utilize a unique finishing move against his foes. This finishing move involved him grabbing them while they were still alive and biting into the tops of their skulls. Often times he would rip large chunks of skull and brain matter off with a single bite earning him the nickname, Ara-Durz the Skullbiter. When it came to his personality he was prideful and laid back. Often times his contributions to conversation was a snort here or a chuckle there. He never said much, but he was always listening.

These five along with Brienne and Arya made up the official Kingsguard. Brienne almost exclusively guarded Sansa as that allowed her to fulfill her oath to Lady Catelyn as well as serve as an efficient protector. Jon usually had Arya and one other as his guard while the rest were either relieved or standing guard over Jon's family whenever there were guests in the castle.

The only other person at the head table was Maester Wolkan, and he stood on the far side of the table next to Bran.

"Surely there must be something you can offer us, my Queen? This message we have received… is it a ruse to confuse our foes? Or is it the truth? Is our King truly the Son of the Last Dragon and the Wild Wolf?" Came a question from another lord.

A sigh escaped Sansa's lips. The stubbornness of Northern Lords and Ladies, never ceased to amaze her. She had been quite clear to the seven other Lords that had demanded answers about Jon's proclamation. Her answer had been the same to each and every one of them.

"My Queen, please tell us this is all a load of Horse shit. The Mad King murdered your grandfather, murdered your Uncle. The wretched Dragon Prince kidnapped and raped your aunt, countless people died because of those wretched dragons, this news cannot be true!" Another Lord snapped, earning several quiet growls of agreement.

So many had lost loved ones in Robert's Rebellion and so many had been hurt by the Mad King, those that suffered loss were often slow to forgive, especially in the North.

"Aye, this best be some sort of ruse. I fought for Robb Stark, I swore loyalty to Ned Stark and his blood, but I wont die for a Dragon-spawn's ambitions. Fuck the Iron Throne… I wont sacrifice another northern life for the fucking thing." Another lord spat out, rising to his feet as he did, earning a quick chorus of agreement.

"If this information is true, what then? What will 'you' do about it?" Came Arya's demand, suddenly and without warning. The room silenced almost immediately. It was so rare for the second Queen of the North to speak at any of these meetings. More often then not, she stood in silence, gazing down at them with a knowing gleam in her eyes, as if all of their faults, and sins were carried on their shoulders and she could see them with great clarity.

Her voice carried throughout the room, harsh and heavy, earning everyone's ear.

The two lords that had spoken, now stood in silence, their eyes locked on Arya. The little wolf stared towards the two, unflinchingly, and unabashed, her gaze cold, and piercing.

"I-I… My Queen… what I meant to say… I..." The first man started to stutter a reply as he watched Nymeria rise to her feet, standing as tall as a man. The wolf slowly approached the edge of the platform, silent but at the same time, giving off an aura of dread.

"It sounded to me like you would have a problem with our king being the son of the Last Dragon. It sounded to me like you intended to do something about it, if it were true." Arya noted as she slowly stepped forward and placed her hands on the table leaning forward and using her position to stare down at the lords before her.

"My Queen… I didn't mean to insinuate… I was just…" He tried again but a low growl was already filling the air. The source of the growl was quite obviously the massive direwolf that towered over the collection of lords from her spot on the platform before the Stark head table.

"You would dare speak a single word in defiance of your King? The man who saved you all from the cruel rule of the Boltons? Out of all of you, only a handful answered the call to come to Stark aid, those that answered the call have earned their place by our side, the rest of you well… you've still got work to do if you wish to prove your allegiance to House Stark. So let me ask you again my lord, what do you intend to do if our King is the Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark? What are you going to do if he returns and demands that we march south and take back the throne that rightfully belongs to him?" Arya demanded, her question being emphasized by a loud snarl from Nymeria.

The lonely lords gazed about at those around them. Where once some had murmured their agreement, and there existed the possibility of gaining the assistance of other lords in this argument, all now sat with fear in their eyes. The room seemed to be colder then it had ever been, and Arya's reputation and the stories of what she personally did to the Freys, in order to avenge House Stark, had reached all of their ears, long ago. She was a killer, it was easily seen in her eyes. One wrong move and she would leap over that table, hop down from the platform and cut any of their throats in an instant. Rumors of her martial skill had not escaped notice.

And there was also the massive beast that towered over them all, snarling.

The She-wolf had her fangs barred and was ready to leap down from the platform and tear any number of them limb from limb. Her actions had stirred her slumbering packmates as well. Ghost and the two Dire Caragors with him were sitting up, watching from their places with keen eyes.

Silence filled the room for several long moments. Everyone waited for something to happen, for the Direwolf to leap from the platform and start tearing into those around her. Any number of things could have occurred in that few quiet seconds, and it was during that lull that Jon chose to finally make his entrance.

He strode out of the back entrance-way, his stride carrying him with purpose and determination. He had been listening in to the conversation. Instead of stepping up the back of the platform and taking his seat Jon walked around it passing by the front steps as well as Walrund who rose to his feet as the king passed.

"Nymeria." Jon uttered that single word like a command, and with a growl the wolf hopped from her position and quickly took up by Jon's side, striding with him right up to the two lords who were now backing away in terror. One stumbled back into a crowd of other people, some trying to steady themselves or the man, while others were either trying to shove him forward to face the King or they were trying to get away to put as much distance between them and the obviously unhappy king as they could.

Jon ignored this man, who happened to be the first to speak, and instead walked right up to second who had sworn he would not follow the Stark's in any attempt to take the Iron Throne.

This man was backing up and quickly ended up against the main entrance-way. His whole body was trembling as Jon walked right up to him.

"You have a problem with my parentage?" Jon inquired, earning silence from the entire room. Despite the two men being of similar height, Jon seemingly towered over the older lord, staring him down as if he was perched atop a mighty throne.

"N-No. My King. I didn't mean that at all." The lord replied, his eyes filled with fear.

Jon stared at the man for several long seconds, burning orange flames could be seen smoldering in Jon's eyes, a surefire sign that he was likely to lash out and attack. Seeing this, the man slowly slid to the ground holding up his hands as a sign of surrender and submission. Nymeria stood by Jon's side, snarling at the cowering form of her prey.

"If you have a complaint about who my parents were, take it up with me. Do not bother my queens, or my family with your incessant whining. None of them were there, and they have no reason to answer for the actions of the Mad King, Rhaegar Targaryen, or Lyanna Stark." Jon stated coldly, not just to the cowering lord before him, but to the entire room. His voice carried heavily over the dead silence, and many got the message quite clearly.

With that done, Jon turned and strode away from the man, Nymeria throwing one last growl at him before following. Jon made it to the center of the room and glanced around at the various lords and ladies.

"What you have heard is true. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen. My mother was Lyanna Stark. My uncle, Eddard Stark, left a letter for Robb Stark. In this letter he passed on a powerful secret. The truth of my parentage. Robb never got the letter, never read it's contents or if he did, the truth died with him. It was only by chance that the letter was recovered and the truth was revealed to me. The Maesters have confirmed that Rhaegar did in fact marry Lyanna in the light of the Seven. Bran has even seen visions of their wedding. He has also explained to me in full detail the events that occurred at the Tower of Joy where my mother was found. She died giving birth to me. The only other person to know this truth was Howland Reed, who carried it in secret for many years. He has corroborated my Uncle's story. I believe him, I believe my uncle, I believe Bran. I am a Targaryen. Jaehaerys Targaryen." Jon explained to them all, earning quiet nods from many and thoughtful looks from some.

Many quiet moments passed before Howland Reed rose to his feet.

"Despite believing you to be a bastard, these lords named you their king. We of the north swore an oath to serve the Starks, and the Stark swore an oath to serve the Targaryens. You are both Stark and Targaryen. By my measure, that gives you greater right to rule the North then any man or woman in the world." Lord Reed stated. Lyanna Mormont was quick to rise to her feet following Lord Reed's proclamation.

"Lord Reed speaks the truth. I never cared if you were a bastard, and I don't care now that you are a Targaryen. The blood of the Wild Wolf flows through your veins. The same blood shared by Ned Stark. No matter what you call yourself, you are my King, from this day, until your last." A smirk spread across Jon's face as the little Lady of Bear Island reaffirmed her oath.

And just like before the lords of the North rose to their feet, cheering their agreement. Despite being fearful of their king, he was still their king, and he hadn't led them astray yet. Only time would tell what the future would hold, but there was hope in this king, hope for a better day.

"By what name should the Dragon-Wolf be addressed your grace?" Came the question from Lord Manderly.

"I have gone by Jon my whole life. It is my name and I will always recognize it. Jaehaerys was the name my mother and father gave to me. It's one of the only things I have from the two of them. I will recognize it as well. Whichever name you choose to call me by, it makes no difference to me. However, the name Snow I carried due to my uncle's secret was a lie. I am no longer a Snow and refuse to be recognized as such. I am a Stark and I am a Targaryen. Call me whichever you please. I will recognize both. Jon Stark, Jaehaerys Targaryen, it makes no difference to me." Jon replied earning several nods, and a pair of small smiles from his Queens.

"I know many of you have questions, so allow me to explain. I have no intention of taking the Iron Throne. My seat shall be here in Winterfell, for as long as the Night King exists. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Ruling the North is good enough for me. Once the Night King is destroyed, and the White Walkers banished I intend to rule the North and bring it to new heights of glory, but I have no desire for the throne in King's Landing." Jon explained to them all, meeting many Lord's eyes as he did.

He earned nods from many of them, happy to hear that their king was not some power hungry fool who wanted a crack at the Southern throne like everyone else.

"If the day comes when the Night King is destroyed, and Cercei Lannister yet lives, I will march South and destroy her as well as the deceiver Littlefinger." Jon continued earning more nods from the various lords. Everyone knew they both needed to die, even Jaime, despite his love for his twin, knew she was too far gone to be saved. Madness had seeped into her veins and it was destroying her.

"And what of the South, My King? What will you do with the throne after Cercei is destroyed? Will you simply allow your Aunt to rule the south?" Lyanna Mormont inquired.

"Perhaps, depending on the role she plays in all of this. Though if she proves to be unable to handle the task or keep peace with the North then I will simply have to rule them instead." Jon replied earning confused whispers from those around him.

"I thought you said you didn't want the Iron Throne?" One lord inquired, earning mutters of agreement.

"I don't. That fucking thing can find it's way to the bottom of Blackwater bay for all I care. I don't want the southern throne. And as I said, I intend to rule from Winterfell. If I must conquer the south to ensure peace, then I will do so, but I wont rule from King's Landing. I'll rule from here. See how the southern lords like being commanded by the North for once." Jon answered with a smirk earning grins from those around him and cheers from a few of the more militant.

As cheers filled the room, Jon turned his gaze towards his queens. Both sisters stared back at him, smirks adorning their faces. It was obvious from the state of the room that many were excited by this change in doctrine, the idea of possibly ruling the seven kingdoms from the North had never occurred to many of them. And that was just a possibility. From the way Jon made it sound, they were still going to focus on the North but if the south couldn't get it's shit together they'd march down there, toss both Cercei and Daenerys into the ocean and force the southern kingdoms to serve the North. That was an enticing thought to many a lord that felt disrespected and looked down upon by Southern lords.

A few short hours later, and Jon found himself sitting in the main hall surrounded by his council. The various lords and ladies had been cleared out, leaving only Jon's closest advisers and family to carry out discussions.

"Well, now that the rabble has taken to returning to their homes, allow me to be the first to offer my compliments to a job well done. The Dragon Queen fell for the trap, and now the message has been sent." Jaime offered as an opening to the meeting.

"You finally met her in person. What was she like?" Sansa inquired from her spot sitting on one side of Jon, the opposite side was occupied by Arya.

"Beautiful, like the stories say. Prideful, as one would expect from a dragon. Curious. Attentive. Thoughtful. We didn't share many words, and I made sure to be very clear with her when I set everything out before her. She knows now that I will not bend to her whim, and the North will not suffer a foreign invader. Several thousand of her Dothraki were killed in the fighting, so that will further weaken her, and she will be hesitant to bring her precious dragons too close to our lands. She knows that there are three fellbeast plus a dragon guarding our borders, but I'm sure someone in her company has offered the possibility of even more beasts being present." Jon explained to them, earning thoughtful looks from his companions.

"I see. So what is the next course of action?" Came the question from Ser Davos.

"We will focus on the Night King, and keep an eye on the South. I've made my move, now it's time to see how she reacts." Jon replied, as he gaze out across the table at nothing in particular.

Even as they were speaking, a raven was headed for Old Town, it carried an inquiry from the Dragon Queen herself, imploring the Maesters to answer Jon's claim with proof. It would be a few short days until they got their reply, but when they did, they would know his words to be truth. And then, well then the games would truly begin.

 **-To Be Continued-**

 **Alright there's the next chapter, hope you all enjoy.**


	6. update on the story

_**Alright, so here's the deal, I wont be continuing this story. Both Fire and Shadow, and Rise of the Dark Lord are going to be discontinued. For context, I started both stories in the lead up to season 8 of GoT, and as I'm sure many of you realize, season eight was a rushed garbage fire, and it basically killed my creativity when it came to those stories. I don't want to keep pushing myself to continue something I started in anticipation for something that I ultimately disliked.**_

 _ **So instead I have decided to rewrite both stories as a new one. That new story will be called Darkness Reborn, and it will take elements from both Fire and Shadow, and Rise of the Dark Lord. It will serve as the spiritual rewrite of both stories. Please feel free to go and read that if you want to, I know it wont be for everyone, and I know some of you are disappointed, but I'd rather put an end to this, rather then force myself to keep working on it, when I know I'm no longer interested. Darkness Reborn is something fresh, and it's built off of my desires for a new story. So I hope some of you can enjoy it. I will leave both stories up for now, so that people can still read them if they want too, and again I apologize for stopping both of them, but I don't think I can push myself to keep writing them where they are now, and I don't think you guys want to read something from a disinterested author. So for the final time, I apologize. Thank you all for your support, and I'm sorry things couldn't be different. Hopefully you can find what you're looking for in my new story, and find enjoyment in it, as I said, it's a spiritual rewrite of both stories, so if you liked either of them, you make like this one. Hope to see some of you over there. With respects and admiration for you all- Fear**_

 _ **ps, new story should be up in a few hours form this post, pm me with any questions.**_


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